There’s a little giddy-up in my step this morning. It’s the best football day of the year, and I feel like it’s going to be a particularly grand version of it. We’ve got four quality teams, each with their own unique style, and no combination of outcomes would be a surprise. Today can’t miss.

You know what else helps? Lance Armstrong and Manti Te’o dominated all manner of media this week, so unless you went out looking for it, you probably weren’t deluged with hype, storylines and overanalysis of these games. They feel somewhat fresh. Also, they’re actual sporting contests to be celebrated, and not dark illustrations of the worst in human nature. So that’s nice.

Dirty, known for loving the Philadelphia Eagles and being dirty, joins us once again this week. Fifteen minutes before kickoff on Championship Sunday, the question on his mind is this: What would the line be if the Chargers and Eagles played in week one next season? I don’t know. Chargers -34. What kind of question is that?

Performing the national anthem before the 49ers/Falcons game will be America’s least objectionable musical act, the Zac Brown Band. It feels like I’ve seen them do 45 national anthems this year.

Okay, maybe it was just one other time. STILL.

Erin Andrews is on sideline duty for Fox. Dirty voices his opinion that Erin Andrews is an attractive woman. Hm. Interesting. Does anyone else feel that way?

I’ll put some predictions down, just so I have something to brag about if I’m right and ignore if I’m wrong: Patriots by 17, and Falcons by a field goal or less.

And that makes it a bad idea for the 49ers to blow a coverage, but they do it anyway. Julio Jones slips behind everyone, and 46 yards later, he’s dancing in the endzone. 7-0, Falcons.

On the Falcons second drive, Jones is shoved out of bounds directly into the backs of a security guard’s knees. The security guard goes down in a heap, which I guess only looks weird because everyone else I see fall down today will be a world class athlete with superhuman strength. The guy is down long enough that we’re going to commercial. Jim Harbaugh looks pissed off. He’s looking over there like, “Is that guy still down? What a puss. Whatever. Free timeout, I guess.”

Colin Kaepernick takes a sack on a straight four-man rush, resulting in a second three-and-out for the 49ers. Fortunately for them, thus far in the playoffs, first quarter success has been an awful indicator of who will actually win the game.

At the end of the first quarter, total yards are 182 to -2, in favor of Atlanta. Matt Ryan’s just been rubbing his dirty balls up and down Jim Harbaugh’s face. He can’t miss, and the 49ers can’t get anything going. So far, it’s all Falcons.

On the first play of the second quarter, it’s even more Falcons. In the back corner of the endzone, with coverage draped all over him, Julio Jones makes a nearly impossible catch. Now it’s 17-0. Through 15 minutes and six seconds of play, Jones has six catches for 120 yards and two touchdowns.

I guess now’s as good a time as any to do this: In the 2011 draft, the Falcons gave five draft picks to the Browns for Julio Jones. Those picks turned out to be Phil Taylor, Greg Little, Owen Marecic and Brandon Weeden, with the leftover fourth-rounder being part of the trade to get Trent Richardson. Win or lose for the Falcons? Taylor and Little can play, but I don’t know if either are game changers. Julio Jones is changing the NFC Championship game.

Finally, the 49ers are slapping together a drive. After Kaepernick completions on five straight plays, LaMichael James hits painted grass from 15 yards out. Thank goodness.

Some of you swayed me on the Chimay controversy from last week, but this week, I offer you irrefutable proof of The Greek’s pussbaggery. He’s leaving to go take a nap. He was as excited as I was earlier. On the way over here, he actually said the words, “Let’s get in a fight today.” And now he’s going home for naptime. On Championship Sunday. Unreal. Take some responsibility for yourself, head to the bathroom, splash some water on your face and do some coke. Baby.

Dirty, meanwhile, is splitting his attention between bar trivia and football. Right now, it’s 98% trivia, 2% football. Some other dude in here is kicking the trivia shit out of him, and Dirty’s become obsessed with beating him. Have I mentioned that this is Championship Sunday? I’m accepting applications for new friends. The only perk I can offer is that I’ll make fun of you in front of a wide audience on Monday mornings, without you having the chance to defend yourself. Sound good?

The next time the 49ers get the ball, the Falcons abandon their “Let’s cover Vernon Davis sometimes” gameplan, and the 49ers close the gap to 17-14. On that drive, VD caught three balls for 49 yards and a touchdown.

Hey, the Pro Bowl is next week. I literally had not thought of the Pro Bowl once, until Fox just showed their little Pro Bowl promo graphic. WHO’S UP FOR A PRO BOWL SMORGASBORD?! Show of hands? No one? Okay.

Having taken possession with just 1:55 left in the first half, Matt Ryan keeps the pedal to the floor and gets the Falcons in the endzone again before the half. On that drive, he was 6-of-7 for 80 yards, and for a guy who can’t play in the playoffs, he’s playing pretty fucking well in the playoffs. That felt like an important score, because the 2nd quarter, to that point, was as much of a 49er beatdown as the 1st quarter was a Falcons beatdown.

Dirty on the young, attractive bartender: “I bet her vagina is like a vise.”

The game’s first turnover, a Matt Ryan interception, sets the 49ers up with good field position, and they quickly get David Akers in position for a 38-yard chip shot. THONK. Off the post. Cameras cut to Jim Harbaugh, who is surprisingly not having a conniption. It feels like I should recognize Harbaugh for this. To this point, the playoffs had really highlighted his bitchcakes hissy-fit side, but he’s held it together relatively well today. Good for him. Good for personal growth.

Oh no. It’s another Matt Ryan turnover. This one comes on a cocked-up shotgun snap, which Ryan handled like he had meathooks for hands. The 49ers fall on it.

Michael Crabtree, after a handsome catch and run, gets up posing and flexing. That’s not an inappropriate reaction, given the high stakes and emotional nature of this game, but if it’s me, I put about a 72-hour moratorium on all attention-seeking behavior after I’m questioned in relation to a sexual assault. Maybe that’s unfair, and maybe Crabtree is 100% confident in his innocence, so a change in behavior never occurred to him. I hope that’s the case. I’m just saying, though, that when I’m a star receiver in the NFL, and I’m in a championship game, and I’ve just been questioned about a sexual assault, I’m going to do things differently.

Also, I will not pose or flex after I’ve fumbled the ball on the goal line, which is the next thing Crabtree does. Man, if that turns out to be the pivotal play in this game, this could be a really, really bad week for Michael Crabtree.

“HARRY DOUGLAS IS WIDE OPEN HOLY FUCK HOLY FUCK HOLY FUCK,” is what I believe went through Harry Douglas’s head when he found himself inexplicably wide open in the fourth quarter. His freak out almost cost him what should have been an easy catch, and did cost him a whole bunch of yards when he stumbled, without contact, to the turf.

They’re reviewing that now. Everyone in the bar, with the exception of me, sees it as incomplete. It looks to me, though, like Harry’s hand stayed under the ball at all times. Here comes the ruling. And here comes this.

Sweet Lord. And you’d been so good today, Jim Harbaugh. How does an adult let himself behave like that? How those officials stood there without laughing in his face, I have no idea. The official on the left side of the screen even reaches out, as if to soothe him, much like a father would when telling his daughter, “It’s okay, honey. Stop crying. The Hello Kitty toys will be in the Happy Meals next week.”

Jim Harbaugh. Really easy to admire as a coach. Really difficult to like when he behaves like that.

It’s 4th down and 4 now for the Falcons, at the San Francisco 10, with just over a minute to play. If this isn’t converted, we’ll have half of a Harbaugh Bowl ‒ a Harb Bowl, with the Augh still to be determined, I suppose. Here’s Matt Ryan, looking for Roddy White, short over the middle, and it’s tipped away by NaVorro Bowman.

The 49ers will play in the Super Bowl, and just minutes ago, I’d have been perfectly pleased with that scenario. The Harbaugh tantrum totally turned me against him, though. Who acts like that?!This guy thinks Harbaugh needs to get himself under control.

Also, that was blatant pass interference. I get why it wasn’t called ‒ it’s a classic, late-game “swallow your whistle, call nothing unless you see someone achieve full penile penetration” situation, but yes, that was interference.

A Fox camera finds Tony Gonzalez on the sideline, and I’m pretty sure he just said the words “wide open,” as in, he was wide open when Matt Ryan tried to force that ball into Roddy White while NaVorra Bowman was giving him a complete physical. WAY TO KILL A LEGEND’S CAREER, MATT RYAN.

So that’s that, and we’ve got a full half-hour between games. In the meantime, we’ll be enjoying Fox’s postgame coverage, which has been branded the “YIPPEE-KI-YAY” postgame show to promote the new “Die Hard” movie. We do love a good catchphrase. I hope that movie is just 90 minutes of Bruce Willis sitting on a stool saying, “Yippee-Ki-Yay, Motherfucker.”

This next game is the big one. This is the one with something riding on it. Falcons or 49ers, I could go either way. There are enjoyable things about both teams. What I absolutely cannot have, though, is Ray Lewis in a Super Bowl. Two weeks of Harbaugh vs. Harbaugh will get grating, but that’s fine, because it’ll be Super Bowl time, and there’ll always be melodramatic storylines of some kind. I’ve come to terms with that. Two weeks of Ray Lewis’s “The Baltimore Ravens win football games because Jesus loves us more” act, though, and I’ll be at risk for a drinking problem.

Frank Gore is on the Fox set with his son in his arms. Adorable scene, but it strikes me as odd that there’s no 49ers gear on the kid. Frank Gore can parent how he wants to, but I will tell you this ‒ when I’m a star running back in the NFL and I have a kid, he/she is wearing my fucking jersey to my games. FACT. What’s that, son? You’d rather wear Polo? Then you better hope Ralph Lauren feeds your ass tonight, too.

At 6:35, the televisions are finally changed over to CBS. We’re just in time to see Jim Nantz talking about a potential all-Harbaugh Super Bowl while pleasuring himself with one hand.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Ray is crying during the national anthem. Not just crying, either; he’s bawling his fucking eyes out. There’s just no way that’s real. A pre-menstrual Yemeni figure skater who just won Olympic gold wouldn’t cry this hard on the podium during the playing of her national anthem.

Dirty: “He murdered two men, you know.”

I’m happy to tell you that The Greek is back from naptime. He might have to leave again soon, though, for recess.

Ravens fans are pouring in for the late game, which is a good thing, because no one here seemed to care much who won the early game. Not that I love the idea of being surrounded by Ravens fans, because I don’t really want lice (I kid! Baltimore is a fine city!), but it’d be nice to have some energy in here. Even pro-Ray Lewis energy, I’ll take.

New England is opening their attack with a short passing game, and it’s effective, at least, if you like field goals. The Pats are on the board first with three, and this seems like it’ll be a much slower-paced game than the previous one.

Rob Gronkowski is in the owner’s box with Bob Kraft and family. He’s the one wearing a zip-up hoodie, surrounded by about 40 other people wearing $6,000 pants. Bless that man’s heart. Pretty smart move by Kraft, too, getting Gronk in the box. This way, you don’t have to worry about him uploading a YouTube video of himself funneling 40 ounces of Hurricane at halftime.

Ray Lewis picks up a 15-yard penalty for a helmet-to-helmet hit. His helmet, formed as a weapon against Aaron Hernandez, did not prosper. Hey! Thanks, Bible!

The Penguins vs. Rangers hockey game is on an ancillary television, and before the puck even hits the ice, a couple of dudes are fighting. It’s a pretty good scrap, too. How is there less of a concussion problem in the sport where it’s totally fine to punch another guy in the face?

The Patriots have four possessions in the first quarter. One of them nets a field goal, the others end in punts coming between the Patriots 42 and the Ravens 35. They have 123 yards of offense in the first quarter, with just three points. Not good.

The Ravens finally start churning out some offense in the 2nd quarter, with a nice ground/air mix. I don’t know where this Bernard Pierce character came from, but he can eat up yardage, too.

Tom Brady “scrambles” and ends up colliding with an official. The masses love a good referee collision. There are basically two times when people pay attention to officials ‒ when they make a poor call (i.e., one that goes against someone’s favorite team), or when they get run over. They’re like rodeo clowns you can throw shit at.

Aaron Hernandez makes a nice grab, and my buddy Adam says, “I taught him how to do that.” Now, I haven’t mentioned Adam yet because he doesn’t bring much to this particular table (earlier, he asked me if the Super Bowl was on a Sunday or a Monday — I kid you not). Anyway, the rest of that conversation goes like this:

Me: Oh really? How do you know Aaron Hernandez?Adam: We both pee on people.

No idea.

Tom Brady slides on another scramble attempt, this time with his spikes up, Ty Cobb-style. I don’t doubt for a second that this is intentional and meant to inflict pain. I only wonder if it’s Tom Brady’s idea or something taught by Bill Belichick.

At halftime, CBS announces that Joe Thomas and Jason Witten are the two finalists for the Walter Payton Man of the Year award. I guess the committee just hasn’t been paying close enough attention to who cries the hardest during national anthems.

Bernard Pollard gets hit with a 15-yard penalty for hitting Wes Welker in the head. John Harbaugh is arguing the call and gesturing low to the ground, as if to say “Hey, my guy attempted to hit low, what’s he supposed to do if the receiver goes really low, too?” You know what the official did? He shrugged. And I don’t know if any better explanation was available.

A really nice Ravens drive puts them ahead, 14-13. I’m going to have to start saying nice things about Joe Flacco soon. The guy is just putting the ball in the right places, and recent opportunities to call out a FlaccoBoner have been almost nil. His stock is up.

Things have definitely tilted Baltimore’s way, which makes MJD sad. Come on, Pats. This is going to be a really rough two weeks for me if they pull this out. Deadspin was great with the Manti Te’o story, but if this game goes where it looks like it’s going, we’re going to need an even bigger distraction next week. I need Deadspin to keep investigating and find that not only was Lennay Kekua fictional, but so is Ronaiah Tuiasosopo, who was only created to throw people off the scent of the man who actually created them both, Lou Holtz.

The Ravens are definitely putting more responsibility in Joe Flacco’s hands in the second half. He’s winging the ball around way more freely than Tom Brady is, and it’s paying off. In the third quarter, Flacco threw the ball 18 times for more than 120 yards.

The first play of the fourth quarter is a touchdown pass to Anquan Boldin, the unsung MVP of the Baltimore postseason.

Meanwhile, the Patriots continue to call plays as if their quarterback was not Tom Brady, but Christian Ponder. The passing attempts are many, but the risk is nil. Not much is going downfield. “Is there something wrong with Tom Brady’s arm?” asks The Greek.

Four plays later, it’s Flacco to Boldin again for the touchdown, and this fucker’s over. I guess it’s of some consolation that Baltimore earned this one, whereas last week, Denver just kept tripping over their own pricks and handed it to them. This one can’t be denied, though. The game was up for grabs at halftime, and one team came out and just took it. Joe Flacco played better than Tom Brady. Joe Flacco’s offense was coached better than Tom Brady’s offense.

Toward the end of the game, the Gillette Stadium clock operator admirably did his best to dick the Ravens. A punt should have taken us to the two-minute warning, but the clock guy timed that punt at just three seconds, giving the Pats an extra play ahead of the two-minute warning. Quality home-cooking. Had this happened to Jim Harbaugh, he’d have kicked an official in the shins and then threatened to hold his breath until he died.

And the last football image I’ll see today is Ray Lewis, on his knees, in the middle of a huge circle of reporters and cameramen. It’s a configuration usually only seen in a certain genre of films. What’s it called… Boo-something? Bu… Bukkake? This just feels like I’m seeing something I shouldn’t see. I’m not sure if we’re calling it the Soggy Ray or the Ookie Lewis.

I’m late. Does it seem like I have an excuse every week as to why I’m late? I don’t. That’s your imagination. This week, let’s go with … church. Yes, I was at church. Because if God is the reason Ray Lewis wins football games, I want Him to help me become an origami master. Doesn’t seem like too much to ask.

The Greek is on location, though, and has filed a remote report while I attempt to get myself together. He wants me to pass on a complaint about the bar, but I think it he comes off as the dildo. I’ll let you decide. The Greek is upset because he ordered a Chimay, whatever the fuck that is, and they served it to him in “the wrong type of glass.” He thinks this an example of inexcusable service; I think it says more about the guy who expects his local BDubs to have a team of Beer Sommeliers on hand.

Anyway, football ‒ I’ve missed a chunk of the first quarter, and Atlanta’s about to go up by 10 already. A mild surprise, if you’ve been listening to most pundits all week. I like Atlanta, though, by a narrow margin, and I like New England to cruise in the 4:30 game.

Here’s this week’s attempt to raise awareness about sports bars mismanaging their television programming (I’m currently trying to decide on a ribbon color for the cause). According to The Greek, at 1:05, the lone NFL playoff game in this viewing slot was not on a television. Even after he complains and the problem is “fixed”, eight of the 11 TVs in his line of sight are on women’s basketball, bowling or trivia.

A drive spurred on by a 45-yard Jacquizz Rodgers run makes its way down to the Seattle 11. Seattle managed to stiffen and hold the Falcons to three, which, for some reason, feels like it will be important. Please, take it from a guy who has seen half of this game.

Pete Carroll wants to go for it on a 4th-and-1 at the Atlanta 11. I’d have opted for a conservative approach, but I get it ‒ Carroll trusts his defense, and if the attempt fails, Atlanta’s stuck at their own 11, so no big deal. I guess I believe the difference between 13-0 and 13-3 is more significant than he does.

Failure. Michael Robinson is stuffed at the line, and then Atlanta, despite being pinned down at their own 11, turns it into 7 more points on a bomb to Roddy White. That little exchange didn’t go well for Pete Carroll.

After getting by Richard Sherman for the touchdown, Roddy White appears to be motherfucking Sherman up and down. I’m sure that Sherman did nothingto provoke this. Sherman’s response? The calmly-administered “awww, good for you!” clap right in White’s face (Hi Chase). Richard fucking Sherman, man. Loses on the play and gives up a TD, but still comes out ahead in the post-game exchange with Roddy White. Gifted corner. Gifted dickhead.

The Ohio State/Michigan basketball game is an outstanding accompaniment to an NFL playoff game. Like a Poteauflette with a chilled Chimay Triple. In a brandy glass, unless you’re a hillbilly.

The right-before-halftime drive for Seattle feels crucial. They’re down by 20, but it’s not a convincing 20. Seattle has moved the ball, and they’re by no means outclassed here, but if you’ve got a 20-point deficit in the second half, it might not matter. Seven here would go a long way.

At the end of another yardage-eating drive, Falcons d-lineman Jonathan Babineaux does the impossible, and sacks the slippery Russell Wilson. I’m evidently not the only one who thought a Wilson sack unlikely, as Seattle was just completely unprepared for that. They don’t even get the next play off. It’s halftime, and the 20-0 lead has stuck.

If sports were politics and this was a cable news show, this is where I’d ridicule Nate Silver, reject his theories, reject math, and gloat about things that happened for reasons I don’t understand.

Also at halftime, The Greek shares with me his theory about Peyton Manning’s way-too-extensive-to-be-coincidental history of playoff failure. He believes it has something to do with Manning being a closet homosexual. He’s never given up on those Chesney/Manning rumors (I’m still holding out hope myself). The theory goes that Peyton’s confidence suffers under extra scrutiny because he’s constantly hiding his true lifestyle. The Greek says he can see it in Manning’s post-loss mannerisms, which look way different than, for example, Tom Brady’s post-loss mannerisms.

Even as the second half starts, it doesn’t feel like Seattle’s done. Like in the climactic fight in “Goon” (highly recommended, by the way), when Ross Rhea knows that even though Doug is down at the moment, he’s got some more fight in him.

And see, there we go. The second half’s opening drive is the Russell Wilson show. He runs and throws his way downfield, until a 29-yard touchdown pass to Golden Tate gets them on the board. Despite a two-score difference, this has the feel of a close game. It’s sort of mirroring the Ohio State/Michigan basketball game, if you’re catching any of that.

This is how Atlanta’s going to have to do it ‒ keeping the hammer down. Matt Ryan answers a five-minute Seattle drive with a seven-and-a-half minute drive of his own, and Atlanta’s up by 20 again with time dwindling in the first half. Matt Ryan was murderous on that drive. The lead’s starting to feel substantial.

Say, how did we all arrive at the conclusion that the Falcons were a bitch team incapable of coping with Seattle’s physicality, even at home? That seemed like a pretty widely-held opinion coming into this game. Is it because of their limited playoff history? Because they’re a dome team? Is it because their owner looks like he wears velvet smoking jackets, uses a cigarette holder and collects 1950s porn?

Fox shows a fan in a Matt Ryan jersey, complete with eye black and full shoulder pads. If you’re that fan, what sort of reaction would you expect Matt Ryan to have to your get-up? “Look, it’s an adult man, dressing up just like me, another adult man, on a day that isn’t Halloween.” Hey, maybe that fan will get lucky, and it’ll turn out that Matt Ryan is just like Liberace in that he wants another dude to look exactly like him. Good luck, my man.

If the Seahawks are in trouble, Russell Wilson doesn’t know it. He seems to be getting better and more confident as the game goes on. You know who he reminds me of most? Ben Roethlisberger. If you’ve got your hands on him, you better sack him, because if you don’t, he’s going to bury you ‒ it’s just that Roethlisberger keeps plays alive with his gorilla strength, and Wilson keeps plays alive with his quicks. Both are instinctive. Both are impossible to deal with when they’re at the top of their game.

Oh good, this is the playoff game where the NFL announces the national Punt, Pass and Kick winners. There are ten winners, which means this part of the broadcast appeals to exactly 20 people ‒ the parents of these kids. Move this to the Pro Bowl, please.

The Seahawks, who today, kind of look like Russell Wilson and 44 other guys, are still hammering away. Wilson runs it in from a yard out. We’re back to 27-14, and as competitive as it’s ever been. If they’re going to win this game, though, they’re going to need a little more from their defense. They’re in the scoring groove. The stopping groove, not quite as much. Rise to the occasion, defense.

How about an interception? Will an interception do? Because Earl Thomas just got one.

From there, it takes the Seattle Fighting Russell Wilsons four plays to score. It’s 27-20. These scrappy little fuckers are going to do it again.

As the Ohio State/Michigan game intensifies at the end, there’s a promo for Big Ten basketball, which includes a shot of a Penn State basketball player, which was something I didn’t know existed. Something else to ponder ‒ how much less would people have cared if it was an Penn State assistant basketball coach who did all that child-porking? Would we even know his name?

Three punts later, the Russell Wilsons have the ball with 3:00 to play, with all three timeouts, at their own 39. There’s no way they aren’t scoring here.

Atlanta, for some reason, keeps blitzing Wilson. The only get to him twice all day. My plan would be to send one pass rusher every time, and use about a four-man spy unit, a couple of yards back from the line of scrimmage. Wilson is so hard to sack, and if you take a shot at it and don’t get it, he’s going to bury you. One man rush. Four-man spy unit. That’s my plan.

There’s the score, giving Seattle their inevitable 28-27 lead. But they did leave the Falcons :31 and two timeouts. The narrative turns back to Matt Ryan. Fairly or unfairly, the next year of his life, at least to some degree, rides on these 31 seconds. If he drives the Seahawks into field goal range (and gets some help from the kicker), he’s a normal and acceptable quarterback. If he can’t, he’s a bitch-made sea urchin, for at least another year.

As it turns out, Ryan dominates the 31-second referendum on his quarterbacking career. With two throws, the Falcons are in FG range. Now he’ll need Matt Bryant to make the kick.

Fox is showing guys on the sidelines praying and chewing fingernails before the FG attempt. A couple of guys to my left start yelling, “SHOW RAY LEWIS! SHOW RAY LEWIS!” The poor guys. They were shot up all day yesterday with the Ray Lewis heroin, and now, they can’t enjoy a playoff game without their fix.

Seattle calls timeout before Bryant attempts a kick, but Bryant, even with the clear knowledge that the timeout had been called, went through with the kick anyway. He pushed it right. We’ll come back to this.

Here comes the real kick, and that one’s just as pure as Tim Tebow’s pale white penis flesh. It’s hammered down the pipe, with distance for days. It was struck so confidently and so well that I’d love to believe that Bryant, knowing it wouldn’t count, missed the first one on purpose just to fuck with Pete Carroll. “Yeah, I missed that first one! Golly, wasn’t that exciting, Pete! Maybe you shouldn’t have called that timeout, I don’t know. Well, let’s see what happens with this next one. Hey, look at that, it was dead solid perfect! I guess maybe now would be a good time to SUCK MY BALLS, NANCY. DO NOT FUCK WITH MATT BRYANT.”

So this one’s over, and ‒ wait, did they just fuck up a squib kick? Attempt an onside kick for some reason? What the hell happened there?! IS THIS REAL?

Somehow, the Russell Wilsons end up with one last shot at the end zone. Odds are against them, but you know, they’ve done this before. Kind of. I’d just throw it up to Golden Tate and hope he has some of his magical asshole powers left.

Thankfully, it’s caught by Julio Jones. Not that I had any particular interest in the Falcons winning, but after the Broncos/Ravens debacle yesterday, I couldn’t handle another bizarre ending. Let there be order in the world.

With a little time between games, the atmosphere takes a serious nosedive in here. I am not immune to it. Nearly everyone was on the Seahawks bandwagon, whereas, in this game, everyone hates the Patriots and no one cares about the Texans. There may also be a point of saturation on great football. I find it really hard to believe that this game will live up to the last three.

Prediction prediction: Before next season, about 60% of analysts will have the Seahawks in the 2014 Super Bowl. It will be hard to disagree.

Houston starts things off with a fine kickoff return, down to the New England 12. Then they come out, punch themselves in the wiener three times, and settle for a field goal. That felt more like burning four points than scoring three.

Arian Foster’s being held in check early. In fact, everyone’s been held in check early. Aquib Talib is doing an acceptable job on Andre Johnson, who has two catches on five targets. Just as a reminder, the Patriots got Talib pretty much for free. Hey, your team could’ve done it, too.

Hey, look, a drive ‒ the Patriots get on the board first with a one-yard touchdown plunge from Shane Vereen. I was going to insist that Shane Vereen was the grandson of Ben, whether or not it was true. It turns out, he kind of his. Shane Vereen is the first cousin, once removed, of Ben Vereen. The great Ben Vereen! From “Webster”!

Another star of Webster: Alex Karras, a four-time Pro Bowl defensive tackle, who played Webster’s dad, George Papadapolis. Is it possible that Karras and Vereen stayed in touch through the years, and Karras somehow had an influence on the Vereen family, enough that Ben would advise his young cousin Shane to chase his NFL dream with the help of the great Alex Karras? What I’m asking is this: Can the outcome of this football game be traced back to Emmanuel Lewis? Does he have more to do with this than, say, Danny Woodhead? I say yes. The evidence is overwhelming.

I will mention it again: J.J. Watt’s finger wag is taunting. He just blatantly does it in a Patriot’s face, consequence-free. Colin Kaepernick spins a football in someone’s general direction yesterday and gets a taunting call. JJ Watt puts his finger directly in someone’s face, and it’s fine? Who’s officiating these games, David Whitley?

Shane Vereen is in the endzone again, after a great catch from Wes Welker set he Patriots up. It’s 17-3, and I feel like we’re almost done here. From here on out, I see the Patriots just slowly squeezing the life out of the Texans, boa constrictor-style.

Seconds later, Arian Foster starts going bananas, and he gets in the endzone with 1:15 left before the half. Maybe at some point I’ll learn to stop saying that games are over almost immediately after they begin leaning in one direction.

Man, the USAA people are hitting the advertising hard this weekend. I’m not sure what they do, except that it seems to have something to do with insurance and military families. NFL playoff advertising isn’t cheap, and it doesn’t seem like this ads are particularly well-targeted. I don’t know. My point is just that I support the troops, so leave me alone, okay?

Tom Brady fails to make use of the 1:15 left to him, and in fact, leaves enough time for Matt Schaub to execute a counter-drive down into Patriots territory. They’ll get a field goal out of it. 17-13 at the half.

Here’s a Smorgasbord deleted scene from two weeks ago: As I left the bar and walked to my car, I was approached by a woman in need. Her car had run out of gas, she just wanted to get home, it was freezing cold, she was five months pregnant, and she didn’t have money to get her daughter a cheeseburger from McDonalds. Some of you can see where this is going. I want to help this lady, and I give her cash, and offer to drive her over to McDonalds to get her and her daughter some food. She declines, because she wants to get back to her daughter as quickly as possible, and she starts hoofing it.

I don’t realize until later that that I’d been had. I was very upset.

Back to tonight: The Greek goes outside for a smoke break, and comes back with a story about how he gave $5 to a woman who was five months pregnant, had a hungry daughter and had run out of gas.

Angry/excited, I go outside to find this woman, because … I don’t know. I don’t know what I’d have done or said, but I really wanted to find her. It’s not like I was going to get my money back or anything, but I wanted to make her feel bad ‒ which probably would’ve been impossible, too. I don’t know. I walk up and down the strip mall, and I can’t find her. I do warn some people outside about her chicanery, though, who are looking at me like I’m crazier than a flounder with tits.

For some reason, I’m having a hard time getting past this. I want to throw a rock at that scam artist bitch. I sure hope her daughter got something to eat, though.

By the time I get back, it’s 31-13. Soon, a Shane Vereen touchdown will take it to 38-13, and I’m ready to get out of here. All I want to do is sit back with a cigar and a drink, and watch a few old Webster episodes with Ben Vereen. Ben Vereen won’t scam me.

Toward the end of the game, CBS runs a little package of highlights with the results of the three previous playoff games. A shot of Ray Lewis elicit some substantial boos. Glad I’m not the only one. I guess I’ll meet you fellas in hell one day.

Matthew J. Darnell can be reached here. He’s probably lonely and would love to hear from you.

Because I’m very dumb, I mistimed my departure for the bar and ended up stuck in post-college basketball game traffic. So, unfortunately, today’s Smorgasbord will be starting from my car.

Through the magic of WunderRadio, I get to listen to the first few plays of the game via the hometown Baltimore radio crew, which I’d later learn consists of Gerry Sandusky, Stan White and Qadry Ismail. Their general mood is “WAAAAAH, TRINDON HOLLIDAY MAKES US SAD.” 7-0, Broncos.

In the time between I left my car, found a seat and got settled, the score turned into 14-7 Ravens. I’m just going to assume that Ray Lewis scored both touchdowns, because I’ve been watching ESPN this week, and I’m not sure anyone else is playing in this game.

How’d he score them? Well, the first probably came on a Ray Lewis punt return, scored when Ray-Ray summoned a majestic black Pegasus and rode him bravely to the endzone. The second, most likely, came when Ray picked up the endzone and moved it under the feet of Ray Rice, and then turned the hole where the endzone used to be into a shelter for the homeless. All praise to Jesus.

The Broncos answer with a long drive that slows the game down to a reasonable pace. Not that I’m complaining. After last week’s lethargic death march of perfectly sane football, we could use some silliness.

On that drive alone, Peyton Manning completed five passes for 69 yards, and had two completions wiped out by penalties.

There’s an odd tattoo situation on the hip of my waitress. It looks like there was an old tattoo that was faded with some kind of tattoo removal cream, with a new tattoo on top of it. What’s strange, though, is that the old tattoo looks like some meaningless tribal pattern, and the new one also looks like some meaningless tribal pattern. I will get to the bottom of this.

It’s frustrating to not be able to hear sound from the game. It’s the trade-off I make, I suppose ‒ I get waitress service and atmosphere, but I give up Greg Gumbel and Dan Dierdorf. Now that I actually see those words typed, it doesn’t seem like a difficult decision.

Knowshon Moreno, maybe because he wants to be my friend, is in Ray Lewis’s face, pissed off about something. Ray is just pretending Knowshon’s not even there. As anti-Ray as I am, that’s probably the right response when Knowshon Moreno decides to talk trash to pretty much anyone.

Peyton Manning throws his second corner-of-the-endzone touchdown pass of the day, this one falling perfectly into the well-covered breadbasket of Moreno. Throws like that, made in the playoffs, are why Manning is absolutely worth $18 million a season.

The waitresses in this place like to sit and chat with customers, and it turns out that I’m not the only one interested in the hip tattoo. My waitress is sitting and chatting with two gentlemen across from me, and they ask about the tattoo, and she says it’s a tribute to her father. Keep in mind, this tattoo goes all the way down her hip, to the point that she couldn’t even show her father without things getting weird. What did dad say when he learned of your tribute, miss? Did he throw back six Valium and say, “You couldn’t just GET A GODDAMN GREETING CARD!?”

She also mentioned that she’ll be graduating soon and might want to teach calculus. If this comes to fruition, there will be a new hottest calculus teacher of all-time. It won’t even be close. My high school calculus teacher had a face like a head of cauliflower.

After some exchanged punts and another receiving touchdown for Knowshon Moreno (I know ‒ I don’t understand it, either), Matt Prater absolutely chili-dips a field goal attempt. I’m not sure how he didn’t hurt himself.

With 1:16 on the clock, Joe Flacco’s going to take advantage. He finds Torrey Smith in the endzone again, making the score Ravens 21, Broncos 21, and Torrey Smith 2, Champ Bailey 0. I won’t fault Champ for this one ‒ it was a great throw and a great catch, and I don’t know if any corner could’ve stopped it ‒ but he’s definitely down on the day.

I’ve got to recognize my buddy Jerry, who told me last week that, as a Broncos fan, he was concerned about Champ Bailey being exploited in this game. Jerry was right. Also, fuck Jerry. He said he’d watch this game with me, but then decided to watch it at home because he was having some trouble with his retroverted uterus.

Breaking News: Notre Dame’s Brian Kelly has decided to stay at Notre Dame and take his name out of the running for the Philadelphia Eagles job. I hope the next two candidates on the Eagles’ list are Charlie Weis and Bob Davie.

It’s Trindon Holliday again, this time with a kick return TD to start the second half. Someone’s making himself famous.

More coaching news: The Browns will hire Norv Turner as their offensive coordinator, and I’ve got a really good feeling about it. I believe Cleveland’s gone about solving their sports woes all wrong. It’s a city of losers. You can try to bring in a few winners to change things, but they can’t overcome the life-draining energy of a population of 400,000 people, all of whom have been conditioned to suck at life. Play to your strengths, Cleveland. You’re losers. Roll with it. When’s the last time Cleveland had a winning team? “Major League.” How’d it happen? Assembling a group of losers. In about week ten of 2013, Rob Chudzinski is going to look at Norv Turner and say, “Startin’ to come together, Pepper. Startin’ to come together.”

I end up talking to the two gentlemen across from me, and I tell them about KSK and my meager contributions to it. One guy asks to be referred to as a handsome, suave Brad Pitt-type, and let me tell you: He was all that and more. At this very moment, he has our lovely, hip-tattooed waitress mounted on the hood of his car, making sweet love to her as she teaches him calculus.

FlaccoFumble! The Ravens fuck up the snap and hand Denver the ball at their 43. Also, “Flacco” makes an excellent prefix. I’ve decided that all Joe Flacco mistakes will heretofore be called “FlaccoBoners.” That said, in this game, I’m seeing a better Joe Flacco than I’m accustomed to.

ESPN2, since the game has kicked off, has been running World’s Strongest Man competitions. What would happen if we tried to make these guys offensive guards, or 3-4 defensive ends? I’d have to think that the ability to carry a compact car would be somehow useful in football. Obviously, they’d lack years and years of technique, but their ability to push shit has to be better than, say, Marshall Yanda’s, right?

I get the rest of the tattoo mystery solved. I tell the lady ‒ who is very nice, incidentally – that it kind of looks like there was an old, faded tattoo behind the new one, and she explains that no, that’s actually a part of the new tattoo. It’s background. I guess I just inadvertently told her that her tattoo looks fucked up. I feel bad.

The Ravens seem to want to turn up the heat on Manning in the second half. One play after Jacob Hester converts a 3rd and 1 and sees it wiped out by a holding call, Manning is sacked and turns the ball over. Replay pending.

I hate to say it, but that’s pretty much a textbook tuck rule call, isn’t it? In the process of tucking the ball away, he loses it ‒ that’s what the tuck rule, for some reason, is for. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad it didn’t get called. It’s an absurd rule, and I’m sure the league office doesn’t want to see another playoff game decided by it. But if you don’t want it called, league, then take the rule off the books, instead of ignoring your own rules because you don’t want to admit you made a bad one.

Ray Rice cracks off a gorgeous run to inside the Denver five, and three plays later, he’ll punch it in. We’ll head to the fourth quarter tied.

The Ravens secondary picks up back-to-back flags, one for hitting a defenseless receiver, and one for defensive holding. The holding is completely legit and the right call. The defenseless receiver … I don’t know if it’s right or wrong, but it is something that’s been called consistently for the past two years, so stop doing it, dick.

I give Twitter a glance, and my feed is just wall-to-wall bitching about officials. They’re the worst, it’s an embarrassment, they shouldn’t have “all-star” crews, etc. To this, I say, Waaaaah. Not even to Ravens or Broncos fans, but to all of us. Maybe some bad calls were made today, but it wasn’t long ago that we suffered through some truly terrible officiating. Then, after three weeks, the best officials in the world came back and we gave them standing ovations, and today, they’re all pieces of shit again. We’re whining bitches.

Sorry. I’ll put the soapbox away. It’s just that this has been an extraordinary football game, and the thought of spending all day Monday listening to complaints about officiating sounds very unpleasant to me.

The Broncos set up a screen pass to Demaryius Thomas, and oh, look at that. That’s some world class blocking right there. My hat is off to you, Orlando Franklin, and you, Brandon Stokley. Touchdown, and the Broncos are up by 7.

The Broncos are going to running back Ronnie Hillman to close things out, and he’s getting the job done. On a couple of carries, he picks up a massive first down that should just about end this thing. Best case scenario now, the Ravens get the ball back with a little over a minute left and no timeouts.

That’s what happens: 1:09 to play, they’re at their own 23, and they need 7.

And then HEY, WHAT THE FUCK, DENVER? Rahim Moore and Tony Carter do a great job of making sure the Ravens don’t gain 20 yards, but they weren’t totally successful in making sure they didn’t get 70 yards. Win some, lose some, I guess.

God. I’m going to need a few minutes to make a b-b-b-b-b-b sound and flip my index finger up and down over my lips. How does that happen? Why is Tony Carter worried about the underneath receiver, and what made him so sure Flacco was throwing the ball there? And Rahim Moore … I don’t even know what the fuck to ask about what he was doing.

Seventy yards. Tie game. What just happened makes absolutely no sense. I don’t know what to say about it. Champ Bailey, you’re pretty much off the hook.

Overtime brings a brief power outage to the bar. The lights come back on immediately, but the televisions take a few seconds. I want to see the end of this game, of course, but I also kind of want to see what happens if the TVs don’t come back on. You know what I think would happen? I think we’d all turn to each other and learn to talk and share from a place born of sincere compassion for our fellow man, and we’d find fulfillment in each other’s company on a purely human-to-human level.

And then we’d all just start sucking each other off.

The TVs are back in a matter of seconds, though, so I don’t get to find out. A tremendous Denver punt pins the Ravens at their own five. Meanwhile, the 49ers/Packers game is underway.

We’re getting really close to FlaccoBoner territory. On 2nd and 10, he lofts up a very interceptable ball that fortunately drifts out of bounds. On 3rd and 10, he takes a delay of game, pushing the Ravens back to the three. And on 3rd and 13, he completes a beautiful and ballsy touch pass to a well-covered Dennis Pitta for a gain of 24. Unbelievable throw. Had the Ravens been forced to punt from their own 3, it would’ve been a wrap.

What should I call that? When Joe Flacco does something spectacular? FlaccoSplosion? Does that work?

On the next drive, Peyton Manning throws a very Jake Plummer-y interception. While scrambling to his right, he made a bad throw and a bad decision, and it’s going to end this game. Thank God he didn’t throw it to Ray Lewis.

Justin Tucker comes on for an attempt from 47 yards. Being a rookie, this being a playoff game, this being his first attempt of the day, coming four hours into a freezing cold game, I’m going to say it’s no gimme.

But he drills it. Wow, did Denver piss this one away.

Ray Lewis is on the ground crying. It’s probably because the Ravens won, but I hope he just coincidentally got some really bad news.

A text from my brother tells me that Ray is running around shouting “No weapons!” for some reason. I do a little Googling, and as it turns out, it’s a biblical passage, Isaiah 54:17. I’ll quote it here for you, from the New King James Version:

“No weapon formed against you shall prosper. Weapons formed against Jacinth Baker and Richard Lollar, however, should be just fine.”

Watch this Ray Lewis postgame interview with Sal Paolantonio, where Ray Lewis acts like he’s the only person who’s ever won a football game. God had pre-destined a Ravens win, it seems. I wish Ray had told me before, so I could put some lumber on it. I don’t quite understand, though, why Ray’s so fucking happy if this thing had been pre-destined all along? Why show up and try to make tackles, then? Man can’t change what God has blessed and destined. Also, the bible applies to the Ravens but not the Broncos. Hey, I’m sorry, I don’t make the rules.

I decide to time how long it takes after the conclusion of the Ravens/Broncos game to get the Packers/49ers game on. I’m not even going to complain that this place has 40 televisions, exactly one has been on Packers/49ers from the start, and three that I can see are on the World’s Strongest Man on ESPN2. Start timer.

Five minutes, sixteen seconds.

The first play of that game I see is DuJuan Harris, busting through the line with a beautiful touchdown run. That makes it 14-7, Green Bay.

Things calm down in here a bit for the second game, but I have spotted a man across the bar wearing a white dress shirt and a lavender vest. It’s a party anywhere that guy goes.

Oh boy. Look at the size of the muff on Packers punt returner Jeremy Ross. That’s a bad one, and three plays later, Colin Kaepernick hits Michael Crabtree over the middle for the touchdown. We’re now tied at 14, and this game is shaping up to be pretty damn good, too.

I go to the bathroom for a second, and it’s a piss-swamp in there. There’s just piss everywhere. Some of you have to be doing this on purpose, and I think there’s something wrong with you. The nice thing about the bathroom, though, is that I can hear the game commentary in here. I never envisioned thinking to myself, “Hey, Joe Buck. Sweet” while urinating. Aaron Rodgers throws a deep interception as I try not to step in piss.

And not long after that, it’s Kaepernick again with a beautiful throw to Crabtree for a touchdown. I missed the pick-six in the first quarter, but what I have seen from Kaepernick so far has been damn close to perfect.

Michael Crabtree is on the sidelines wearing a hat that is very loose fitting and has a straight brim. This is very noticeable to me, but I hardly ever make note of a backup quarterback wearing a hat in a more traditional style. This probably makes me racist.

A David Akers field goal makes it 24-21 going into halftime. If there’s one theme for the day, I suppose it’s the surprising performance of the non-superstar quarterbacks. Joe Flacco was FlaccoBoner free, and Colin Kaepernick has been otherworldly. Peyton Manning and Aaron Rodgers, meanwhile? Nothing to write home about.

The lavender vest can now be explained: An asshole got married. He either put his groomsmen in lavender vests, or allowed his wife to do so, and now, on his wedding day, he is at The Tilted Kilt during the NFL playoffs. Hold on to that gem, sweetheart.

At the end of halftime, David Akers has to move some dancing halftime performers out of his way to get in some field goal practice. I’d have loved to see one of those kids get in his face and scream, “FUCK YOU, KICKER.”

Colin Kaepernick tries a deep ball to Randy Moss, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a camera iso’d on Randy Moss. I know it shouldn’t be, but it’s slightly jarring to me to see just how fast Randy Moss isn’t. I choose not to say that the ball was overthrown, and will instead say that it was underrun.

Score one for the “running backs are completely fungible” crowd: Green Bay is handing the ball off to Randall Cobb now. And it’s working. Not only are running backs interchangeable with other running backs, but now apparently with players at other positions, too.

Colin Kaepernick. Are you real? In a classic college-style zone read, he fakes the handoff to the back up the middle, reads the end, then keeps the ball and heads outside. From there, he decides to just be faster than everyone else, which is always wise. TD, San Francisco. I keep waiting for him to screw something up, but he’s doing the opposite. He’s getting better.

Also, Brad Jones, Erik Walden, and Charles Woodson: You don’t need me to tell you this, but you three looked like major assholes on that play.

Highlight of my day: Seeing a man get carried out of the bar. A couple of male employees have literally picked this guy up ‒ one has his legs, one has his arms ‒ and carried him out a side door. They just set him down, right there on the sidewalk. There’s a round of applause, though I’m not sure if it’s for the drunkard or for the employees.

After the 49ers force a Packers punt, Kaepernick, on a second and eight, throws a perfect ball, over the shoulder, to Vernon Davis for 44 yards. It seems like every throw he makes hits the guy in the perfect spot. The 49ers defense has been great and Vic Fangio has called an outstanding game, and Michael Crabtree and Frank Gore have been studs, too. This is feeling more and more, though, like one guy just going out and winning a football game by being awesome. Since the first quarter, Kaepernick has been flawless.

A couple of guys here are doing a Ryback “Feed Me More” chant. I don’t know if it’s football-related, if they’re just big Ryback fans, or if they’re complaining about portion size.

Frank Gore opens the fourth quarter with a TD, pushing the 49ers lead to 14. It feels insurmountable. Not that Aaron Rodgers can’t score two touchdowns in a quarter, of course, but I don’t know how the Packers are going to stop the 49ers offense at the same time.

Well, Packers, if you’re going to jump on a 4th-and-1 that the 49ers are obviously not going for, then there’s just no reason for me to be here. There was no WAY they were running a play there, and like four of you jumped! What are you, trying to outdo Rahim Moore?

Anthony Dixon scores, and that’ll be a wrap. An outstanding day of football. One game where the entertainment and WTF factors were off the charts, and another saw a legendary performance from an unlikely quarterback. No complaints about today, except that Ray Lewis was such a large part of it, and will be again next week. We’ll do this again tomorrow.

The first football-related thing I see today is the news that Bruce Arians was wheeled into an ambulance on a gurney in front of the entire Colts team. If this was a movie, it would mean that the Colts would win on the last play of the game, running a brilliant, magical play that Bruce Arians had designed specifically for this game. It would look like this.

Unfortunately, this isn’t a movie, and the Colts are going to get their asses whipped. I’ll take the Redskins in the late game, too.

Tom Daugherty is up 18 pins on Jason Sterner after just three frames in the PBA Scorpion Championship. I know this because this is on television, right next to lone TV showing the Colts/Ravens game. Finally, they know what they’re doing in this place.

The Colts first drive chokes out quickly, and is followed by a 34-yard punt return, and then an efficient start to the game for the Ravens offense. Early indications are of Ravens superiority.

Oh, we’re going to turn bowling OFF now? After you’ve teased me with the graceful brawn of Tom Daugherty’s radical thumbless delivery? FUCK THIS PLACE. (Note: I will later learn that Tom Daugherty once bowled a 100 in the 2011 PBA Tournament of Champions, so, you know … good for him.)

The Ravens continue to mow through the Colts defense, until Ray Rice coughs up a fumble. Early break for the Colts. Head referee Mike Carey awards the ball to “Indiana.” That’ll be a nice little memento for the state.

I thought things might pick up in here today after a slow day yesterday, but it’s the exact opposite. It’s deader than hell. I am literally the only one sitting at the bar until a group of children around the age of 7 gather around the end-of-bar video game thing. It’s your lucky day, kids. MJD never drinks alone. Cuervo shots for all of you.

I’m just kidding. I drink alone all the time.

The Colts, as the Ravens did just minutes ago, see a good-looking drive die on a turnover. Andrew Luck was stripped.

Joe Flacco tries to give it right back, though, when he hits Vontae Davis in the chest with the football. Davis can’t make the grab, though.

I always root against Joe Flacco, and I have no real reason why. He seems a nice enough guy. I always find myself pleased, though, when he throws an interception or otherwise fucks something up. I don’t know. Maybe he looks like someone who kicked my ass when I was a child.

CBS goes to commercial as a turnover-stuffed first quarter comes to an end. On this week’s “Hawaii 5-0″, evidently, viewers can vote on how they want the show to end, because … because, well, fuck art and artists, I guess. It’s like one of those Choose Your Own Adventure books, the ones most people stopped reading when they were nine.

In the second quarter, the Ravens steadily march the ball down the field, but settle for a field goal when a would-be TD pass bounces off the hands of Tandon Doss. Tandon Doss. MORE LIKE TAMPON DOSS.

CBS has a pre-game shot of Ray Lewis and Roger Goodell embracing in a warm, zestful hug. Steelers fans everywhere have no choice but to interpret this other than as stone cold proof that Goodell hates the Steelers. Case closed.

A brilliant punt by Sam Koch pins the Colts at their own two-yard-line, until it’s called back because the guy who downed the punt had previously stepped out of bounds. I wouldn’t mind changing this rule for the punt coverage team. I say going out of bounds first adds a level of difficulty to the accomplishment. In fact, I say if you can steal the hat off the opposing head coach’s head, and then go down the punt, you get to move it back half the distance to the goal line, too. And you get to keep the hat.

Colts tight end Dwayne Allen picks up 22 yards on a screen play, and could’ve had three or four more yards if he could bear the thought of contact with another football player. He had at least a couple of yards ahead of him, but tucked himself safely out of bounds.

The Colts will later turn that into a field goal attempt. Adam Vinatieri is true, and it’s 3-3. Oh, after yesterday, my kingdom for a touchdown.

We’re approaching halftime of this game, which means we’ve seen six teams in the playoffs so far, and only one of them ‒ Green Bay ‒ has had a consistently competent offense. And we’re thinking about expanding the playoffs? I say we’re good with six teams.

The next episode of “Two and a Half Men” will be a musical. I would sooner watch Rob Ryan hump the exhumed corpse of Ernest Borgnine. You are awful, CBS. Just awful.

Joe Flacco forces the ball to Ray Rice on what looks like a busted screen, and finally, Ray Rice does some of that Ray Rice shit. Nice job by Flacco, nice job by Rice. From the two-yard-line, Vonta Leach punches it in for the touchdown. Touchdowns. They do exist.

I didn’t anticipate the Colts doing a whole lot with just :50 left on the clock before the half, but 19 seconds later, they’re at the Ravens 43 yard-line.

But then Luck gets called for intentional grounding, prompting a Chuck Pagano argument with the official. If I was Pagano, I wouldn’t lose an argument today. “Oh, really? That call’s going against me? The guy who just beat cancer? I sure hope the disease doesn’t come back, so my last memory of you doesn’t have to be this hateful act of screwing me over. No, no, hey, if it’s the right call, it’s the right call. Good for you. You feel like a big man? Hey, you know Bruce Arians is dying, right?”

On 3rd down, Luck picks up 25 yards on a nice throw to TY Hilton, which puts Indy back into field goal range. They’re only down 10-6 at the half, and that felt like a momentum-changer. We shall see.

Hey, the NHL lockout is over. I don’t know if I should be happy for the NHL because they’ll get to have a season, or sad for the NHL, because they failed in their suicide attempt.

To start the second half, Anquan Boldin goes up and rescues a wayward Joe Flacco pass that I don’t believe was intended for him. Gain of 50.

Anquan Boldin continues his takeover on the Ravens next drive, making catches of 10 and 46 yards. The drive will end with a touchdown pass-and-run to Dennis Pitta, putting the Ravens firmly in control at 17-6. Note to the Colts: This would be a good time to stop fucking around.

And they do, to a point. They answer with a beautiful drive, that has thus far combined six runs and six passes for 72 yards, lasting over six minutes. The blitz gets to Luck on third down again, though, and they’ll have to settle for a field goal attempt. Can’t have that. I said yesterday that a team who kicks four field goals deserves to lose. This will be their fourth attempt.

I swear, this is the most well-behaved, non-interesting group of people ever assembled in one bar. If I could afford it, I’d buy six shots for everyone in the place, just so someone might do something halfway amusing.

This is the current TV situation in front of me. TV on the left: football. TV in the middle: football. TV on the right: Infomercial for Cindy Crawford’s Meaningful Beauty anti-aging cream.

Bernard Pierce rips off a 33-yard run in what might be a backbreaker for the Colts.

No, wait ‒ I take that back. This Anquan Boldin touchdown is the backbreaker. There will be no coming back from this. Anquan Boldin is my game MVP.

Valerie Bertinelli uses the Cindy Crawford cream, and she looks fantastic. Good for you, Val.

An Andrew Luck interception drives a stake through the Colts’ hearts for sure, but the Colts have no reason to feel shame. They fought. Their defense was a bit overmatched, and their offense isn’t all-the-way well-rounded yet. The next game won’t start for 31 minutes, and a large portion of that is going to be spent sucking off Ray Lewis. That’s not my particular cup of jizz, so I’m going to take a short break

We’re underway with the late game, and maybe I’m just falling for some RGIII vs. Russell Wilson hype, but I’m considering this one the weekend’s main event. It almost has to be, because the previous three games didn’t exactly set the bar high. I’d even take a blowout, as long as we see some cool stuff.

RGII goes 30 yards downfield to Pierre Garcon, and I hear cheering! I have found people in a sports bar who are interested in football! I feel much glee.

The Redskins train keeps rolling down the field, and Griffin finds Evan Royster, of all people, for a touchdown. Not just a touchdown ‒ an opening drive touchdown. I wasn’t sure those were still legal. This feels good. This RGIII character might turn out okay after all.

Just as I’m starting to experience moderate excitement, a couple sits down to my right and the dude starts babbling endlessly to his broad. It sounds like fairly mundane, first-date, get-to-know-you type stuff. Not a word about anything related to football or sports, which makes Buffalo Wild Wings a peculiar choice, especially for a pony-tailed bearded hippie type. You gotta let her get a word in, man. You don’t have to remember it. You don’t even have to care about a goddamn word she says. But she wants to talk, and if you want her to like you, you’re going to have to let her.

The Redskins follow up their impressive first drive with an equally impressive defensive effort. On third down, they sack Russ Wilson (I’m trying that out ‒ I’m not sure if Russ or Russell fits him better) and force a punt. Three and out.

And down the field the Redskins roll once again. It’s Alfred Morris, it’s Bob Griffin, it’s Logan Paulsen, it’s Morris, it’s Griffin, it’s Morris, and to cap it off, HIS NAME IS LOGAN PAULSEN. Another touchdown, Redskins. We’re only a quarter into the game, but this is, by far, the smoothest offense I’ve seen this weekend.

The bad news, though, is that RGIII seems to have hobbled himself on that play. He’s running and walking gingerly. When he goes to the sidelines, he goes into some kind of temporary shed the Redskins have built over there. It’s about the size of a treehouse. RGIII has to duck to get in.

Can any team just have a shed like this, where players can go and be away from cameras? And if so, why doesn’t every team have one, stocked wall-to-wall with buckets of Toradol, clean syringes, mountains of cocaine and prostitutes who work quickly?

And to start the second quarter, the Seahawks get in on this new, strange “offense” trend, too. They put together a 66-yard drive that, unfortunately, stalls at the 14. They’ll settle for a field goal. But don’t worry about it, gentlemen ‒ the Texans and Ravens both had their share of red zone boners and got away with it. No reason you can’t, too.

This hippie prick is still talking. This is the most self-centered hippie I’ve ever encountered. The television that used to be showing the Cindy Crawford infomercial now displays one of those super-long ASPCA commercials, with all the abused puppies and kittens. The girl makes an “awwww” noise, and, not missing a beat, this asshole goes into a dog voice. It would be so great if a pack of pit bulls ripped him to bloody shreds.

The mojo of this game has gone ass over teakettle. The Redskins had a ridiculous yardage advantage in the first quarter, and the Seahawks have flipped it in the second. Russ Wilson was brilliant on a Seahawks touchdown drive, and then RGIII threw a deep interception. It’s like only one of them can play well at once.

The Seahawks fail on a 3rd and 7 late in the half, and again settle for three points. They’ve had their collective foot on the Redskins’ throat all quarter, and could have a lead, but they don’t. 14-13, Redskins. Fuckin’ field goals, man.

Coming up at halftime, Fox’s Jamie Maggio will talk to Ray Lewis. Amazing! Someone convinced Ray Lewis to step in front of a video camera! How’d they do it?

A couple more thoughts on Ray Lewis, because I’m sure some of you are fans, and you find my animosity toward him off-putting. I apologize for that. As a player, Ray is clearly one of the all-time greats. The Ravens and the game itself will be poorer for his absence. The Ray Lewis persona, however, I will not miss. He fancies himself a leader and the ultimate team player, but he also preens more than just about anyone in league history. He adores the spotlight, and he wants to clobber you in the head with his religion. I’m an admirer, but I’m not a fan. I’ve grown tired of his omnipresence.

My distaste for him doesn’t even have much to do with his January of 2000 indictment for murder. The law said what the law said, and it’s not like I know what happened that night. I wonder, though, if he and Roger Goodell would be such bosom buddies today had Goodell been the commissioner during that incident.

Also: I don’t think he’s retiring. You think Brett Favre loved the spotlight? Brett Favre never did this. Clearly, Ray can still play at a high level, and I don’t know if anyone in NFL history has ever had a stronger love of being on-camera. I’d put the odds of seeing him in a Ravens uniform again at around 60%.

To start the third quarter, again, the Seahawks engage in some world-class red zone dick-trippery. Marshawn Lynch, after starring in a bruising, efficient drive, coughs the ball up. It’s looking more and more like Seattle should win this game, if they can get out of their own way.

We continue to zip along, scoreless in the third quarter, though it’s not without intrigue ‒ Griffin is clearly struggling with his knee, and the Redskins are chasing Russ Wilson around on virtually every play. When I think about the ceiling for these two guys, it’s a little scary. What if either of these guys had a Peyton Manning or Tom Brady-like understanding of the game, right now? What if they can get there while they’ve still got most of their athleticism? If they develop like Manning or Brady (and there’s no reason to believe they won’t), they’ll be virtually unbeatable. There are times when Tom Brady seems unbeatable now. What if he was also super elusive and instinctively athletic?

Also, just to mention it: Brandon Weeden was selected 53 picks ahead of Russell Wilson in the 2012 NFL Draft.

I’ve had enough. I gotta get away from this hippie guy. He is still babbling, and I’m getting sick of his fucking voice. I’m a patient man, but it’s non-stop, and I long for the peace and comfort of sitting next to your average Redskins fan. I move to the other side of the bar. Within two minutes, hippie dickwad has slid down into my old seat. I’m so glad I drilled a bunch of farts into it before I left. I hope the stink sticks to his beard for the next eight days.

The second half is Marshawn Lynch’s time. Aside from the goal line fumble, I mean. He makes up for it with a 27-yard rampage through the defense that ends in the painted grass. Great run, and the two point conversion puts the Seahawks up by a full 7. The Redskins need an offensive resurrection, quickly.

And they’re not going to get it, because Robert Griffin III’s knee is now jelly. Oh man, this is bad. Bob gets a low snap in the shotgun, and tries to recover it, but his knee tells him, “No, we’re just going to lay down right now.” A total non-contact injury. This is unfortunate. NICE GOING, DR. JAMES ANDREWS, YOU FUCKING QUACK.

Sorry. Dr. Andrews was probably 0% at fault there, but I’m looking for someone to blame.

The bigger immediate problem for the Redskins is that Seattle recovered that fumble. They can’t get a touchdown, but they do get a field goal, which makes the lead 10, and the Redskins aren’t getting that back. Let’s just skip the rest of the game ‒ from here on out, this happened, then that happened, then something else happened, and the score stayed the same until the whistle blew.

So, the question of the day: Should we light Mike Shanahan on fire for what he did to our precious RGIII? Let me put myself in the shoes of a Redskins fan for a second.

JOHNNY RIGGINS IS THE TUFFEST SUMBITCH TO EVER WALK THIS EARTH AND THE ‘SKINS IS THE ODDS-ON FAVRITS TO WIN THE NEXT NINE SUPER BOWLS. I SURE WISH IT WAS MEDICALLY POSSIBLE FOR JOE GIBBS TO IMPREGNATE ME. QUIT YOUR BITCHIN’, INJUNS! GREASEMAN FOREVER!

Now, let me keep my Redskins Crocs on for another minute to discuss what happened in Sunday’s game. I’d bear no ill will toward Shanny. He’s supposed to yank the best rookie quarterback in NFL history out of a playoff game, to save him for some future playoff game that may or may not happen? No way. The playoffs are the reason we’re all here. Championships. That’s the end game to all of this. If Shanahan feels RGIII gives them the best chance to win, and he’s willing to play, then he plays. Nothing else is relevant.

Honestly, what are we saving him for? Sure, we’d love to have a healthy RGIII for playoff runs that might happen in 2016, 2017, 2018, and 2019. But you know what? We have a playoff run that is happening, right now. You don’t know if you’ll ever be back here. Take your best crack at it. And if he gets hurt, there’s an offseason. There’s surgery. Adrian Peterson made the best of it.

Now, if your criticism is that a healthy Kirk Cousins gave the team a better chance to win than an injured RGIII, that, I wouldn’t argue with. I’m not saying you’re right, but if that’s your opinion, fine. I can buy that. What I don’t buy, though, is “RGIII’s knee is banged up, so let’s keep him hermetically sealed until he’s perfectly healthy and we’re back in the playoffs”. Now is what matters.

That’s how I feel about it. Chances are, you’ll come across some other folks discussing it on Monday.

Since we’ve come this far, I’ll be rooting for the Packers to beat the 49ers, and the Seahawks to upset the Falcons on the road, so we have a chance to right that little wrong that happened in week three. See you next week when the heavyweights come out.

It’s been my experience that the early rounds of the NFL playoffs lead to dead sports bars. Fans of the participating teams generally stay home, where they can hear better and won’t be bothered by people with only moderate interest in the game. And on top of that, it’s not like there are a ton of Texans or Bengals fans roaming around in their non-native habitats. I’m anticipating a non-raucous crowd today.

Just to get it on record before we start here, I’ll take the Bengals +4 (I’d take them to win outright, in fact), and the Packers to cover the 8.

In the first five minutes of the game, the Bengals defensive line is having their way. Running between the tackles is playing to the strength of the Bengals defense. It’s not really the Texans strong suit, either, so I don’t know why they spent their first drive doing it.

It’s even grimmer than I thought in here today. There are three people to my right, all at the bar by themselves, all looking miserable. I’m certainly not Captain Exuberance, either. The four of us look like test subjects made to sit and watch a series of puppy executions.

Houston starts to get it together on their next few drives. They’re throwing it around, running outside and mixing in some draws. The Bengals defense is on roller skates.

When is Mike Zimmer going to get a chance to be a head coach in the National Football League? Not that I have any sort of opinion on Mike Zimmer, but I feel like I’m obligated to say that any time I see the Bengals on television.

The Texans end up stalling out again. They’ve got a massive advantage in yardage, but they only lead 6-0. Doom has been foreshadowed.

On another TV, there’s a commercial for something called “The WaxVac.” It’s apparently this tool that you jam into your ear canal, and it sucks the wax out. Sounds safe to me! I had no idea this existed ‒ I don’t even know how this is legal. You can just sell a fucking vacuum cleaner you stick inside your ear?

Here comes the “BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE!” portion of the commercial. I can’t wait to see this. The Belly Button Steam Cleaner? The Anus Mop? Bummer. It’s just another WaxVac. You get two of them for $10, so you know they’re a quality item with absolutely no safety risks.

I’m still reeling from the WaxVac when Matt Schaub drops back and throws a pick-six to Leon Hall. The quarterback looks like a chump on any outside throw that’s picked and housed, but I’m gonna go easy on Schaub here. Is it a throw Tom Brady or Aaron Rodgers makes? Probably not, but it wasn’t some ridiculous Sanchezian mistake either. The throw was maybe a hair late, but credit Leon Hall for making a nice play there.

A dude at the bar, who I’m going to guess is in his 50s, gives a couple of packages of Skittles to the bartender, who looks maybe 20. This is one of those exchanges that’s fine if done at a bar, but suspicious if done in a windowless van.

And again, the Texans trip over their own dongs in the red zone. Their third field goal of the day makes it 9-7, which is not the lead you want to have when you’re outgaining your opponent 202-29. The Bengals offense has looked awful so far, but they didn’t get to the playoffs by kissing ass. They have occasionally shown glimpses of competence this season. This is a perfect recipe for a crushing Texans loss.

That said, it would probably help the Bengals cause if they remembered they had AJ Green, but hey, why make use of your best/only offensive weapon in a playoff game?

I’ve seen Brian Leonard get the ball five or six times this season, but every time I do, I still think, “Wow, Brian Leonard is still in the league.” I don’t know why this continues to surprise me.

At halftime, I start talking to the couple to my left, who are the only other two people in here paying attention to the game. She tells me that he and her gentleman companion have a bet on the game, but seems hesitant to tell me what’s on the line. You know what that means. Rimjobs.

The Bengals will start the second half with the ball, and come on, ‘Gals. Gimme a reason to believe here. Give me some indication that you can score a touchdown or two.

Three and out. Andy Dalton was running for his life on every play. This doesn’t look promising.

There’s a sign in the crowd that reads, “I LOVE SGT. (A soldier’s name) IN AFGHANISTAN (AND JJ WATT)”. I appreciate the spirit of the sign ‒ you support your man who’s serving overseas, and you also support the JJ Watt and the Texans. Terrific. I’m not suggesting anything untoward. But your man is in Afhganistan, sweetheart. In the desert, probably surrounded by dudes, with a dick drier than a bucket of sand. Maybe until he’s home, you could refrain from holding up signs indicating that you find some other dude attractive. It just seems the decent thing to do.

Andre Johnson finally beats Pacman Jones, getting the Texans a first down inside the five. This should set them up well for another field goal.

Houston momentarily forgets where they are on the field, and Arian Foster inadvertently stumbles across the goal line. We have our first offensive touchdown of the playoffs. It’s 16-7. The way things have gone, I’m gonna guess that that will be enough points for the Texans.

On the next Bengals drive, they remember they have AJ Green. He gets four targets this drive (he had zero previously), and what do you know, it worked. The Bengals get into field goal range for their first offensive points of the day.

An older fellow sits down next to me, picks up a menu and asks me, “What’s good here?” I don’t know, man. Try the roast duck with the roasted red rosemary potatoes. You’re at a Buffalo Wild Wings, sir. Nothing here is very good.

I’m repeating myself, and I will keep doing so until it’s rectified: JJ Watt’s finger wag is taunting. I’m not saying I want it to be taunting, but if a wide receiver scores a touchdown and shoots an awkward glance at someone, he’s called for taunting. By those standards, there’s no way a finger wag isn’t a taunt. Now, if I had my way, there’d be no limits on taunting ‒ I think you should be able to score, pull a cell phone out, call the beaten defender’s mother and accuse her of turning tricks for Big Macs, all played over the stadium PA system ‒ but if you’re going to call it, it should apply to everyone.

Andy Dalton is intercepted with 3:00 to play in the third. With 70% of the precincts reporting, MJD is calling this one for the Texans.

Apropos of nothing, Bruce Gradkowski grows an excellent beard.

The Texans turn the Andy Dalton interception into their customary field goal, pushing the lead to an insurmountable nine. And Bengals offensive coordinator Jay Gruden is getting head coaching interviews?

The Bengals try a deep ball to AJ Green in the middle of the endzone, and he almost came up with it. In fact, the argument can be made that he should have come up with it. That would’ve turned this into a suddenly interesting game. Alas, it is not.

Say, you know who doesn’t have the look of an eventual Super Bowl Champion? Wade Phillips. So I’m kind of rooting for it to happen. Also, instead of a ring, I’d like him to have a championship belt. And a flamboyant, feathered, sequined robe. And he should wear both at all times.

CBS stat: Andy Dalton is currently 0-for-5 on third downs. There are some who say that quarterbacks earn their paychecks on third down. There are some who say that quarterbacks earn their paychecks in the playoffs. If you say either of those things, Andy Dalton owes you money.

With 4:17 to play, the Bengals are dead if they don’t convert this 3rd and 6. Make that 3rd and 11 ‒ Kevin Zeitler false started. No worries, though ‒ the Texans bail them out with a pass interference. This is championship football, right here.

A couple of minutes later, the Bengals again find themselves needing to convert a crucial 3rd and 11. They throw short to Marvin Jones. Short to Marvin Jones, as in, not deep to AJ Green.

Now, I know it’s not as simple as, “Hey, just throw the ball to AJ Green more!” I’m sure the Texans are making that difficult. But, you know … anything good that’s happened or come close to happening for the Bengals offense in this game has been because they’ve thrown to AJ Green. I’d rather die while forcing the ball to AJ Green than die while taking a safe, short completion to Marvin Jones.

So our first game has come to a close, with the Texans getting the win by virtue of death by field goals. I’m of the opinion that if you settle for a field goal four times in a playoff game, you should lose. And had the Texans been playing anyone other than the Bengals today, I believe they would have.

There’s about a half hour break between games, which is fine with me, because the NBC football crew is so dynamic and insightful. Hines Ward is every bit as good as Jerome Bettis was.

The atmosphere has picked up for the second game. This is a very, very pro-Faith Hill crowd. A couple of the gentlemen at the bar are fighting the urge to excuse themselves to the men’s room.

Again, it’s a more festive atmosphere for the late game. One guy yelled “GET HIS ASS!” ‒ twice ‒ on an opening kickoff return that lasted all of 27 yards. That’s too much ass-getting for 27 yards.

This game will start with a field goal, too, but it came on a fun drive. With Joe Webb under center, Leslie Frazier has gone full Rich Rodriguez. Option reads for the quarterback, where Adrian Peterson either gets extra room to run, or they swarm on AD, and Joe Webb gets to run. That first drive was 53 yards of pure college stuff. That was like watching the Fiesta or Cotton Bowl.

My highest compliments to Leslie Frazier and/or Bill Musgrave for working that out. That was good stuff.

The next time Joe Webb gets the ball, however, it’s not so pretty. On a 3rd and 2, he drops back (and there’s no way 3rd and 2 should be a passing down for this version of the Minnesota Vikings) and gets hemmed in, wrapped up, and then Jake Plummers a two-yard heave that, by all rights, should have been intercepted by a defensive lineman. Let’s not do that anymore, Joe Webb. In fact, let’s stop calling passing plays all together.

WooHoo! We have our second offensive touchdown of the day. This one comes on an impressive DuJuan Harris nine-yard run, but there’s a catch ‒ it made the last 28 seconds of the first quarter last six to eight minutes. Here’s the play-by-play: The original call said Harris was down short of the goal line. The clock ran down to zero. End of quarter. But no! Green Bay challenged the call. We go to commercial break. We come back and get the TD ruling and the extra point. Then another commercial break. Twenty-eight seconds are put back on the clock. Then the kickoff (mercifully, we skip the commercial break here), and a Vikings run to end the quarter.

A couple of super bubbly young girls take the two vacant seats next to me. The girl closest to me tells the bartender that she’s three days sober. Good for her! He inquires as to why, and she says she was blackout drunk three days in a row last week, and on two of those days, she woke up in a stranger’s house with no recollection of how she got there.

I’m happy. I also get caught blatantly eavesdropping ‒ she turns to me and says, “Yeah, you heard right.” I apologize to her, but what am I supposed to do, not listen to a girl telling that story? She assures me it’s fine, which is nice of her. I like this girl. I’m hoping to see her fall off that three-day wagon.

Twenty-one minutes into the game, the Vikings have five passing yards, and way, way, way, way, way too many passing attempts. I’m not sure how many passing attempts, but whatever that number is, it’s also the number of passing attempts that are too many. Third and 8 is a running down today for the Vikings. I am not kidding.

My new alcoholic friend has a giant margarita in front of her. Well, it was a good three days, honey. You gave it a shot.

This game is moving along similarly to the last one. The Packers are clearly the better squad here, but they’re letting Minnesota hang around. It’s way easier to have faith in Aaron Rodgers than it is to have faith in Matt Schaub, though.

Jerome Simpson lays out and dives for a Joe Webb pass that was over his head by about eight yards. It seems like a silly thing to do, but I guess that’s the difference between me and Jerome Simpson. If I dive to the ground like that, it’s going to result in major trauma for me. He can do it, no big deal. No one can accuse him of loafing. That’s Chanticleer-style.

And now Drunky has a shot in front of her, with the margarita still pending. Oh, man. This is starting to feel like the ominous first twenty minutes of an After School Special.

Oh, and that “Letting Minnesota Hang Around” phase of the game is quickly coming to an end. Aaron Rodgers heats up in a drive that ends in a John Kuhn TD. 17-3, Green Bay. Now Minnesota’s going to have to throw (before now, they didn’t need to, but they did so voluntarily for reasons that escape me), which means we’re not far away from 31-3.

The next drive sees the Packers settling for a field goal attempt after a six minute drive, until the Vikings get caught with 12 men on their field goal block team. Oops. Forget those nice things I said earlier about Leslie Frazier. Aaron Rodgers has a fresh set of downs, and the Packers score on the next play. Get out the WaxVac, because the Packers are blowing a load in Ragnar’s ear.

Drunky and her friend are absolute dude magnets. They’re attractive girls, but I wouldn’t call them 10s (I intend no disrespect), and they’re not dressed particularly provocatively I don’t know. I believe today’s 20-something male has evolved a sixth sense for finding girls with lowered defenses. Maybe I’m just old, but I sort of hate what’s happening here. I feel like I’m watching a pack of rabid, bloodthirsty wolves circling a shitfaced Clifford the Big Red Dog.

Drunky gets up to go to the bathroom and is gone for about 20 minutes. I’m thinking the worst. I just want to call her father.

At the 38, Green Bay forces Minnesota into a 4th and 3 that they’ve got to have, if there’s any hope of this game becoming competitive. Joe Webb drops back (four words you never want to hear if you’re a Vikings fan), and it goes predictably awry. Clay Matthews gets the sack/fumble/recovery.

“1600 Penn” looks like a great show if you wanted to like The West Wing, but found it too difficult to follow after two decades of huffing paint thinner.

I overhear someone nearby refer to Matt Hasselback as “Matt Hasselfuck.” I don’t know what this guy has against Matt Hasselbeck, and I don’t know why that makes me laugh. It does, though.

Before she leaves, Drunky and I actually have a pleasant little conversation. She’s a nice person with a real name and now I feel bad for calling her “Drunky.” I’m sorry, ma’am.

With the score 24-3 in the fourth quarter, I’m going to call it a night. I’ll be back with you tomorrow, and hopefully, Sunday yields some better football.

It’s the saddest Sunday of the season. Bars are empty, about half the games are meaningless and fantasy leagues have run their course. We’re all just playing out the string. The playoffs are great, but I won’t experience the satisfying head-whip of eight simultaneous games again until September of 2013. Oh, NFL, how you rot my attention span. Oh, how I miss it when you don’t.

One more mention of fantasy: I am my league’s champion. It’s no big deal or anything, just please make sure you curtsey before speaking to me. Thank you.

It’s so quiet in here today that I was just startled by a Bears fan cheering. I startle easily, but I’m pretty well-attuned to the acoustic environment of the sports bar. It’s so dead in here today.

But hey, good news: Michael Vick is back, and he still really, really wants the other team to have the football. On 2nd down, he fell on his own fumble, and on 3rd, he overthrew the shit out of Brent Celek and was picked off.

Meanwhile, several televisions away, 22 monkeys dressed in Bills and Jets uniforms continue to hump footballs while praying that they’ll be able to upgrade to Michael Vick next year. I’m going to go ahead and pencil the Patriots into the 2013 playoffs, too.

Three of the four televisions directly in front of me feature games that don’t mean anything: Cleveland @ Pittsburgh, Tampa Bay @ Atlanta, and Jacksonville @ Tennessee. Collectively, I consider these games to be the NFL’s answer to the Kraft Fight Hunger Bowl.

The Browns have a new quarterback under center this week, too. It’s a fellow named Thaddeus Lewis. The early scouting report: He’s black. We’re currently awaiting word from Rob Parker on whether or not he’s black, like, for real black. He appears confident and he throws a nice ball, though.

The Bears fan across the way, excited about a Matt Forte run, cheers “Go Matt!” Like they’re close personal friends or something! I guess this dork is on a first name basis with ‒ wait a second. I do that exact same thing sometimes. Never mind.

Is it a coincidence that the girl from Workaholics is in a commercial that takes place amongst a sea of cubicles? I don’t know. Some mysteries can’t be solved. But I do think that girl is cute.

It’s already 21-0 Giants, and we’re not even out of the first quarter. It must be nice to look at the schedule in a must-win week and see that you’re playing the Eagles. Like getting a sex doll for Christmas. “Oh, I am just going to go to town on this thing.”

No, I didn’t get a sex doll for Christmas. There’s always next year.

Buccaneers tight end Luke Stocker is rumbling down the far sideline when he leaps over a would-be Falcons tackler. I’m comfortable in calling that the greatest hurdle by a white tight end in NFL history.

And then the Bucs go right back to Stocker on the next play. Two plays, two catches, 43 yards. Draft Luke Stocker in the first round of all your fantasy drafts next year.

Oh good, there’s a new celebrity high-diving show. I’ve been waiting for something to combine America’s great love of the high dive with their passion for Terrell Owens. The official title is “Stars in Danger: The High Dive.” What’s the danger? Are they diving into a drained pool? Are eliminated contestants forced to have sex with Greg Louganis? Or are they just in danger of not being famous for much longer unless you’re teased with the idea that they might really hurt themselves?

A Google search to see who will be joining TO on the high diving show reveals that this is actually a Fox rip-off. ABC’s been planning a high-dive show, scheduled to debut in March, and that one actually does feature Greg Louganis (though I doubt anyone will be forced to have sex with him). Apparently, celebrity diving shows have become all the rage in Europe, so from now on, you can just save your bullshit about being culturally superior, Frenchy.

Chad Henne has completed six straight passes for the Jaguars. Anyone looking forward to next year’s Henne vs. Tebow vs. Gabbert quarterback competition in Jacksonville? In a related question, how many times do you think Mike Mularkey will have his mouth around the barrel of a shotgun this offseason?

The Browns vs. Steelers game is 3-3 late in the second quarter, which I’ll use as an excuse to mention that Pat Shurmur is getting the shaft here. I guess if you get nine wins in two years, it’s hard to mount much of a defense for yourself, but with the roster he was given and the progress the Browns made this year, it certainly seems like he’s earned a third year.

Darius Reynaud takes a punt to the house for the Titans, making that game 21-14, Tennessee. This may actually be the most entertaining game I can see at the moment.

Just after halftime, Reynaud takes another punt to the house. Draft him in the second round next year, right after you get Luke Stocker. You will dominate.

That’s followed almost immediately by another Chad Henne pick-six, and the Titans have 35 points somehow. I’m not sure I remember even seeing their offense on the field. I will later learn that the Titans, in a stretch that lasted less than five minutes on the game clock, scored 28 points without running a single offensive play. And it could’ve been 35, but the next Henne interception was returned only to the Jaguars 14. At the end of the game, the Titans will have 38 points on 221 total yards.

Arian Foster remains one of my favorites: After a 13-yard touchdown run, he runs over to a #CHUCKSTRONG banner in the endzone, and gives it a tap in respect to returning Colts head coach, Chuck Pagano. It’s a very sweet gesture.

You know what’s worse than a group of dickheads at a bar? A well-behaved bar crowd. I’ve really failed to fully appreciate the asswads that populate this place every week, because they’re not here now, and I miss them. They make this better. Not that I’m unhappy ‒ through a chance encounter, I’ve been joined by a friend who I didn’t even know was in town ‒ but he’s a very pleasant and amiable fellow, unlikely to engage in the sort of miscreant behavior on which the Smorgasbord thrives. I’m hurting for material. COME BACK, ASSWADS.

The national Fox feed switched us from Eagles/Giants to Bears/Lions, because the Giants are teabagging the Eagles, and the Lions have closed a 20-3 deficit to 20-17. A perfectly reasonable decision, but my buddy’s a Giants fan, and he’d still like to see that game. The bartender (who, bless his heart, seems a nice fellow) is just not capable of helping us out here. “Yeah, that game’s not on anymore,” he tells us. It is, my man. You guys have the Sunday Ticket. Just come over and say, “I don’t understand how television works,” and we’ll label this a more honest interaction.

Hey, there’s a Plaxico Burress reception for a touchdown. That’s nice. There’s got to be a pretty good chance that that’s the last catch of his career. That it comes in a Steelers uniform and goes for a touchdown? That’s a nice way for Plax to wrap things up. If only all careers could end that nicely.

With 1:22 left to play in a meaningless, two-touchdown game, Steelers linebacker Lawrence Timmons destroys Thaddeus Lewis. Obviously, I don’t fault Timmons ‒ as long as you’re playing, you play, I suppose ‒ but Lewis just had easily the best day of his career, and I’d really hate to see him get hurt at the end of it, just to satisfy a Steelers vs. Browns rivalry bloodlust.

On a late 3rd and 3, Jay Cutler executes a beautiful play action fake, then runs to the opposite side for a gain of 19. That’ll put the Lions away, close the curtains on the Giants, and send the Bears home to root for the Packers to beat the Vikings. Do you think Jay Cutler even watched that game? Or did he just get showered and say, “Hey, someone call me if we have to play next week?”

There are six games at 4:25 this week. I think that’s some kind of record. And oddly, most of the early games ended quickly, so we’ve actually got a stretch of about 10 minutes here with no football. I don’t recall this ever happening before.

Can I interest you in some bonus college basketball coverage? Eastern Kentucky vs. West Virginia? No? I didn’t think so.

Between its total unattractiveness as a football game and the bartender’s failure to understand the magic moving picture box, it might be a struggle to get the Chargers/Raiders game on. I better start now.

I end up missing only the first three minutes of the game. Not bad. I am in time to catch this stat: The Chargers have just three rushing touchdowns this season. Three. How’d we ever get three?

Meanwhile, in a game with good football players, Adrian Peterson is killing it. It’s week seventeen, and the guy looks daisy fresh. He’s got over 50 yards and a touchdown in the first quarter. He is the exact opposite of Jackie Battle.

EJECTIONS! Takeo Spikes is losing his mind after being ejected from the game, along with Mike Goodson of the Raiders. I didn’t see what happened. Let’s check the replay. Let’s see … they shove each other a bit. Then they grab each others’ facemasks. And … that’s it. No punches, no kicks, no middle fingers, no general Suh-like behavior. Grabbing a facemask is an ejection now? I thought that’s what facemasks were for.

Spikes is acting like he wants to tear out an official’s thorax. Goodson might want to, too, but we won’t know, because Terrelle Pryor pulled him away from the scuffle like he was a secret service agent. I like it. That’s a strong, bold, decisive act of leadership. In that same situation, I’m sure Philip Rivers would’ve done the same thing. Either that, or yelled something at someone, and then gone back over to the sidelines and said, “Hey, did you see me yell at that guy, Norv? I’m awesome.”

If you’re ever feeling lonely on a Sunday in late December, head to your local sports bar and know every possible playoff scenario. People will ask you questions all day.

It looks like Adrian Peterson’s going to come up short of the all-time single-season rushing record. It’s kind of a shame. He’s running his balls off today. He’s been brilliant to watch.

CBS is showing video of Colts head coach Chuck Pagano dancing in the locker room after his Colts beat the Texans. It’s an emotional scene that peaks with Pagano doing a do-si-do with Jim Irsay.

I wonder what would happen to a Chargers fan who showed up at Qualcomm today with a big “KEEP NORV” sign. Would’ve been an interesting social experiment.

Philip Rivers makes a beautiful 34-yard throw to Danario Alexander for a touchdown, and then sprints downfield to talk shit to the Raiders cornerback who was beaten. I have no idea how to feel about this. It’s great that Rivers is so insanely competitive, and I guess it’s a good quality for a quarterback to keep a high level of confidence, but … Jesus. It’s week 17 against the Raiders, and your team is going to finish under .500. Let’s calm it down. It doesn’t make me want to punch him in the face, but it makes me understand if you want to punch him in the face.

Fox’s New Years Eve show will be hosted by Tate Stevens. Say, that reminds me: Who the fuck is Tate Stevens?

Pretty slick move by Jordy Nelson to try to pick up the challenge flag thrown by Mike McCarthy. It didn’t work ‒ the Packers still picked up the 15-yard penalty for throwing the challenge flag in an unchallengeable situation ‒ but it was a heads-up thing for Nelson to do. A few plays later, Nelson will run onto the field and pull an extra man out of the huddle for the Packers. The guy should be collecting an assistant coach’s paycheck, too.

And the Chargers, knowing their time is running short, get one more punt blocked in this fairytale season. The Raiders quickly convert it to a touchdown, pulling them within three with enough time for an onside kick attempt. In a season containing the fourth-biggest collapse in NFL history, and then the 4th-and-29 to Ray Rice, it would be totally appropriate if we blew this game.

The Jordy Nelson show continues, as he hauls in a touchdown pass to tie that one up. It’s Jordy Nelson’s world. We’re all just renting.

I’d link to video of that play, but I’m starting a one-man silent revolution against long pre-roll videos on the internet. I don’t mind watching ads in return for access to video content. But asking me to watch a 30-second ad so I can watch 47 seconds of video is consumer abuse, and I’m not doing it anymore. Unfortunately, NFL.com, an otherwise excellent site, is just about the worst offender on the internet. From now on, if a pre-roll ad is going to last more than 10 seconds, I’m out. I don’t need to see it that bad. Evolve, internet.

The Vikings have the ball at the Green Bay 37-yard-line. That would be a do-able field goal for rookie kicker Blair Walsh, but it’s also just about the exact number of yards Peterson would need to catch Eric Dickerson. This should be his last chance. The give is to Peterson, and NO FUCKING WAY, MAN. HE COULD ‒ awwwwwww. It looked for a second like he might go the distance.

Nonetheless, it was a beastly run, one of about 34 he had on the day, and he made the game-winning field goal a chip shot. He’ll finish nine yards short of the all-time record.

Nine yards short. If you’re a Vikings offensive lineman, and you got called for holding on a 10-yard Adrian Peterson run at some point this season, how bad do you feel right now?

I’d add a couple of things, though: 2,097 yards in 2012 is more impressive than 2,105 in 1984. The lone, load-carrying, featured back is damn near extinct in this era. Dickerson did 2,105 on 379 carries, and Peterson did 2,097 on 348. Also, obviously, there’s the knee injury from which Peterson came back, which takes all of this from extraordinary to goddamn mind-blowing. He may not have gotten the record, but I’d call it the best season a running back has ever had.

Today’s slate of football games looks like pure football porn. It’s almost too much. Giants/Falcons. Packers/Bears. Broncos/Ravens. Colts/Texans. Steelers/Cowboys. Patriots/49ers. Also, Chiefs/Raiders, if you’re into homemade nursing home porn.

Here’s my prediction for Week 15 ‒ we’ll see some good games and some cool stuff, and there’ll be a team or two that breaks out and makes you think, “Now that team is looking good for the Super Bowl.” And three weeks from now after Wildcard Weekend, we’ll look back at this week and none of it will make a goddamn bit of sense.

Four of the six good games are on at 1:00, and do you know which game the Buffalo Wild Wings people have chosen to get sound? Redskins/Browns. With no RGIII. Worst decision since they dropped the weck.

Ed Reed squares up for a tackle on Knowshon Moreno, and Moreno just hurdles the dude. That’s not how I’d have predicted the Ed Reed vs. Knowshon Moreno battle to go.

I’m joined this week by some friends, one of whom goes by Dirty and is both an Eagles fan and a moron. He offers up this pearl: Kirk Cousins is the best rookie quarterback in the league, with the exception of Nick Foles. I’m not sure what to say to that, other than to note that Eagles fans seem to have an affinity for less talented, white backup quarterbacks.

Someone’s turned Knowshon Moreno into Jim Brown today.

Adrian Peterson goes 82 yards to the painted grass, and the Rams defense looks more confused than anything else ‒ like they just got into a fight with a normal looking dude, and it turns out he’s a world class kickboxer and you’re thinking, “Well, I didn’t know you were going to cheat.” Safety Craig Dahl in particular has a look on his face like, “What do you want me to do? I don’t see this shit in practice.”

Jay Cutler throws an interception on what appeared to be a misread by the intended receiver. He’s gone into a patented Jay Cutler douche-fit on the sidelines. I can make out, “Fucking stupid (something).” Cutler’s growing on me recently.

Here’s why: Seconds later, Joe Flacco throws Denver a 99-yard pick-six, and in a few seconds, he’ll be on the sidelines acting like he or a receiver didn’t just screw the pooch. Really, Flacco and Cutler are about the same quarterback. The difference is that Cutler doesn’t care if you think he’s an asshole, which is more authentic and entertaining for everyone.

That puts the Ravens down 17-0, and between that and the Giants getting killed, this afternoon of football porn is looking more like a snuff film. A guy I know ‒ his name is Kitchen Manager ‒ is at the game in Baltimore, proudly displaying his Broncos fanhood. The score is not good for his safety. I sure hope he doesn’t get murdered.

Whoa. Some Bucs linebacker just shoved a coach on the sidelines. Unfortunately, it was a coordinator, and not Greg Schiano, who would have attempted to fight him. “YOU WANNA BE THE NEXT ERIC LEGRAND, MOTHERFUCKER?”

How are those 2 Girls on CBS Still Broke? Life lessons from Paul Mooney’s grandmother: A wet pussy and a dry purse don’t match. I’m not saying they should prostitute themselves ‒ well, maybe a little bit. Just park yourself at a sports bar on a Sunday, feign an interest in football, and some guy will buy you a car.

Chris Hope of the Falcons drills Victor Cruz, late and in the head. That’s about the dumbest fifteen yards ever given up. Cruz is down. The Greek says, “Yeah, get up and dance now.” And that sounds (and is) cold, but I don’t know ‒ if you beat me, then dance in my face, you’re showing me up. Tribute to your grandmother or not, you’re still showing me up, and I’m not going to pretend to like it just because you say it’s for grandma.

Danny Amendola just tried to kill an old man with a football. He scored against the Vikings, spiked the football, and it bounced up into a dude’s face. The guy looked like he was hurting pretty bad. I think it cut him or broke his glasses or something.

Clay Matthews gets a sack and turns himself into Ravishing Rick Rude ‒ five stars for that one, buddy. It may have looked a little more like Gigolo Jimmy Del Ray, but unfortunately, Del Ray never grew to have the influence on American culture that he should have. Either way, it’s worlds better than Matthews’ standard sack dance. Kudos to you, sir.

Say, Packers, that’s an odd playcall. Up by 11 in the fourth quarter, you want your punt returner to stop and throw the ball backwards across the football field? That almost seems like the kind of needless risk that might backfire.

A gentleman has arrived for the late games dressed entirely in Cowboys gear from 1991. He’s sporting a metallic silver pullover by Starter and this hat. It’s a look I respect.

The Packers have clamped down on Brandon Marshall pretty thoroughly, bracketing him on every play. This leaves Jay Cutler to throw to Alshon Jeffrey, who really likes to shove defensive backs. There’s his second crucial pass interference call.

On a 4th and 9 with the game on the line, Cutler goes to Jeffrey again. He keeps his hands to himself this time, but cornerback Sam Shields doesn’t extend the same courtesy. He gets away with a blatant yank of Jeffrey’s jersey. It’s unfortunate that it wasn’t called, but it’s not like the Bears can leave this game claiming they were robbed ‒ they didn’t do a whole lot to win it, either.

Packers punter Tim Masthay drops a punt out of bounds at the three, leaving Jay Cutler with a 1st and 97 with 56 seconds to play. I’ve been given no reason to believe the Bears can even get close to scoring position here. It’s not happening.

And yeah ‒ a two-man pass rush buries Jay Cutler, and that’s gonna do it. They’ve been pretty well outclassed by the Packers in both matchups, and that just can’t be overlooked in trying to project what’ll happen in the playoffs. I’ve come to appreciate you, Bears, but … you’re not the Packers. Sorry.

The Chargers/Panthers game, today’s real main event, is underway. Steve Smith catches a pass along the sideline, takes a couple of steps of surrender out of bounds, and then Antoine Cason decides to hit him. That’s okay, we won’t need those 15 yards. Steve Smith shoves a couple of forearms into his face. Thanks, Steve Smith.

The Panthers are just battering the Chargers with Mike Tolbert, which is just mean. It’s like tearing someone’s finger off, then poking them in the eye with it. Touchdown, Mike Tolbert.

And hey, a silly turnover from Philip Rivers. You don’t say. The ball just comes out of his hands as he attempts to throw it ‒ like someone coated it in Crisco. That’ll turn into another Mike Tolbert touchdown. Oh well. Go Chants.

The Greek, a Steelers fan, wonders aloud: Where were you last week, normal Philip Rivers? A perfectly reasonable question. Cincinnati got to play normal Philip Rivers, Baltimore got to play normal Philip Rivers … Pittsburgh got the semi-responsible version. Tough break for them.

Seattle’s going with an all-gray uniform today, which always sounds better in theory. They just look like their laundry came out dingy. I’m a fan of Seattle’s 2012 look, but let’s let the college ranks keep the gray trend. They pull it off better.

They keep showing Josh Brent on the sidelines of the Steelers/Cowboys game, and with no judgment on the morality of his presence, I wonder: How is that not super awkward for everyone? Obviously, I can’t walk in those shoes, but how is anyone looking at that guy and not thinking, “Hey, I sure do miss Jerry Brown. You just didn’t want to call a cab, man? I really wish you’d have called a cab.”

It’s already 21-0 Panthers. This could get Norv fired tonight, and if that happens, my apologies, but there will be no Smorgasbord. I will be dancing nude on top of a police car, waving glow sticks and showering myself in Patrón.

Philip Rivers tucks the ball away and runs, and HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. He went into a slide about 8 yards in front of the closest defender. That was fantastic. I’m all for the QB slide ‒ sure, protect yourself ‒ but I’ve never seen anyone take it to that extreme.

There could be some possible schadenfreudic joy to be had today ‒ maybe pummeling the Chargers will help save Ron Rivera’s job, so Carolina will hold on to him a little while longer. Good. Let’s see how you like it, Panthers.

Remember the guy from last week who was rooting for the Redskins because that pretty girl showed up? This week, he’s rooting for the Cowboys. His allegiances run deep.

I’m sure most of you know this because you’re reasonable people, but just in case it’s escaped a few of you … You know what no one ever wants to hear? How many points your fantasy team would’ve scored if they were still in the playoffs this week. They’re not. You failed. We wouldn’t care if you were still in the playoffs. Please chew broken glass.

Dustin Colquitt, punter for the Chiefs, gets off a 63-yarder, then points up to the sky in celebration. God isn’t watching Chiefs/Raiders, buddy.

By some mistake, the Chargers have forced the Panthers into a punting situation, and then they rough the shit out of the punter. That’s 15 yards and a first down. This is the worst I’ve seen any team play this year, with the possible exception of Philadelphia’s second half Thursday night against the Bengals. It’s horrific.

Antonio Garay sacks Cam Newton, and then mockingly does his Superman gesture, like we weren’t down 24-0. Eat a dick, Antonio Garay.

I’m sorry, I take that back. I like Antonio Garay. I guess it’s good that at least one Charger still cares, but stop mocking other people when you’re down 24-0. We should just quit. There’s no reason to keep playing.

I wonder what the ramifications of that would be ‒ the Chargers just literally quitting in the second quarter of this game. Norv just waves everyone into the locker room, and has them shower and go home. Quickly, before anyone from the league can intervene. By the time Roger Goodell got wind of what was happening, everyone on the roster would be blackout drunk in Tijuana, and the offensive line would be shooting their way out of a Tijuana whorehouse. What do you think the league do?

For some reason, Jill Savage of Fox bothered to do the halftime report in this Panthers/Chargers nightmare. I can’t hear it, but I don’t know what she could possibly be reporting. The surprising news that no one hung themselves at halftime? Norv Turner spent the halftime period putting his personal effects in a cardboard box?

Ooooh. We’ve got tension. After a Steelers score, The Greek stood up and yelled “HOW ‘BOUT THEM COWBOYS” to a group of boisterous Cowboys fans on the other side of the bar. Then a goateed man started staring at him, and The Greek says, “We’re going to stare now? That’s what we’re doing?” The guy tells him to just cheer for his own team, and not to talk about the Cowboys, and The Greek mentions the “Fuck the Steelers!” he heard from that side of the room earlier. It’s followed by some more “I’ve got a really big penis” posturing and cursing at one another. If any day is in need of a bar brawl, it’s this one.

With 5:00 left in the third quarter, the Chargers have 75 yards of total offense. How did we ever get 75 yards.

Unfortunately, the feuding Steelers and Cowboys parties have been civil of late. It’s very disappointing. I’m a peaceful man and I don’t want people to fight, but I’m also pretty goddamn bored. I’m thinking about throwing a potato wedge at Goatee, and then blaming it on The Greek.

Someone brings up Plaxico Burress, which leads Dirty to attack Ben Roethlisberger’s character. I’ll let you guess how he went about that. The Greek mentions to him that the Eagles aren’t in a position to throw stones on the issue of quarterback morality. It escalates until someone goes after Andy Reid’s kids, and then, for some reason, Tony Dungy’s. Sometimes I think football really just brings out the worst in people.

Alright, it was me who brought up Dungy. Screw you.

The Chargers and Panthers are still playing football. I don’t know why.

Cam Newton’s just set a new Panthers team record, with 153 straight completions without an interception. I realize it’s not a long and storied history in Carolina, but still ‒ it’s something. At least until you find out that the previous record holders were Jake Delhomme and Steve Beuerlein, so it’s not like we can say Cam is in rarified company here.

It’s one thing when Raiders fans take over Qualcomm stadium ‒ it’s not that far a drive. When it’s Panthers fans, though? That hurts.

Scott Turner, son of Norv, is apparently the “Offensive Quality Control” coach for the Carolina Panthers. I didn’t know that. Maybe he can help Norv get a job in a couple of weeks.

The afternoon will end with a brutal Ben boner to bury the Steelers in overtime. Brandon Carr jumped an out pass intended for Mike Wallace and took it down to the Pittsburgh one. Tremendous play by Carr, and it gets the Cowboys the win. Remarkably, they’re in a three-way tie for first in the NFC East, which would be fun if every team in that division wasn’t so loathsome.

I’m running a bit late again this week, which I suppose is a byproduct of the Chargers being a 45-man traveling parade of failure. They’re the worst kind of team to support late in the season: stuck between the worlds of playoff contention and young, improving and exciting. The Chargers are none of those things. You know what I’m talking about, Eagles fans.

This handy stat from CBS updates me on what I’ve missed, though: Six of nine plays run in this game so far have gone for 0 yards.

While it’s not a barrel of monkeys for me today, though, it’s the biggest bar crowd of the year. I think the biggest factor is that the Steelers/Chargers game is on local TV, pre-empting Ravens vs. Redskins, two teams that also have good-sized local fanbases. So Buffalo Wild Wings is the place to be today. I guess, sometimes, it doesn’t matter how poorly a place is run, it’s going to do business.

The Jets have decided to take on the Jaguars today with Greg McElroy completely inactive. The quarterbacking options for the Jets will be Mark Sanchez, who was benched last week, and Tim Tebow, who probably couldn’t nail down a starting quarterback job in the Canadian league.

I know it’s just the Jaguars, but you don’t even want to give yourselves the option of playing McElroy? My only theory here is that Rex Ryan is saying to the Jets brass, “I want you to get an eyeful of how bad Mark Sanchez really is so you’ll finally understand that he needs to be replaced.”

A guy walks up to the bar by himself and orders a Leinenkugel’s. The bartender says, “Oh, we only have the Lemon Barry Shandy.” The guy says, “That’s the one.” The bartender disdainfully says, “You like that stuff?” With that tone and look on his face, he might as well have said to the guy, “Yeah, sure. Lemon Berry Shandy coming right up, FAGGOT.”

You know what I’d really love? For Philip Rivers to show some kind of acknowledgment that he’s not playing like an All Pro right now. He walks around like he just plowed six Victoria’s Secret models regardless of whether or not he’s just thrown a 30-yard bullet for a touchdown or pegged a defensive back in the chest. Maybe that’s good from a competitive standpoint, but … I know the rest of you hate him, and I get it.

Oh, and fair warning: During the early session, I’ll probably only be paying attention to the Chargers and Steelers. If you haven’t seen a Cowboys/Bengals score yet, this probably won’t be the place to get it.

The guy finishes his Lemon Barry Shandy, puts money down on the bar and leaves. The bartender looks at the rest of us and says, “Did he just come in, have one girl beer and leave?” Jesus, man. Now I’m afraid to order anything but a cocktail of Everclear and a female truck driver’s crotch sweat.

On some CBS crime show this week, LL Cool J finds a dead clown in a dumpster. I really just wanted to type, “LL Cool J finds a dead clown in a dumpster.”

The Chargers/Steelers game has settled into a groove almost completely devoid of entertainment value. Right now, it’s pretty much indistinguishable from Jets/Jaguars, which is not good.

I guess I should be happy for the display of defensive competence, though. The Chargers defense has been, overall, good ‒ I’ve been guilty of lumping them together with an offense that’s underperformed in every possible capacity, and that’s not fair to them. I’m sorry, Chargers defense.

That said, though ‒ they haven’t been playing this well, and I swear, if you fuckers rally to win out and it saves Norv’s job, I will have a nervous breakdown.

Curtis Brown, the man replacing Ike Taylor in the Steelers’ secondary, gets abused by Danario Alexander on a stop-and-go. Thirty-nine yard touchdown, San Diego. Philip Rivers gets in Brown’s face and tells him about it, because … well, I don’t know why. It’s just what Philip Rivers does.

On a 3rd and 1, the Steelers pound it into the line for no gain. On 4th and 1, they do it again, and the Chargers defense holds. I mention it because it pisses Mike Tomlin off. Not in the usual Mike Tomlin style, either, where he’ll be seething but retain a calm and rational exterior. He’s visibly pissed off now. I’m not sure I’ve seen this before.

Fox is going pretty heavy on the Cotton Bowl advertising today. It’s probably not a coincidence that Johnny Manziel, who won the Heisman on Saturday, is featured heavily in these ads. Coupled with Texas A&M buying a Johnny Manziel billboard in Times Square, it feels like the Heisman isn’t a prestigious award so much as it’s a way for already-rich people to make even more money from unpaid labor. I hate to be cynical about college football, but that’s only because I don’t like to be exactly like everyone else.

The Steelers get three points before halftime, leaving the Chargers with a 13-3 lead at the break. I’ve been dabbling in statistical equations to accurately predict the outcomes of football games, so let me run this through the Chargers’ formula: Size of Lead * Impending Crippling Phil Rivers Interceptions ÷ (Time Remaining + √Norv Turner’s Digestive Regularity) – ∑Amount of Pain It Causes MJD / { Upper Deckers Ryan Leaf Left in Qualcomm Toilets } … and no. The lead’s not big enough. We’re going to lose.

Rob Ryan, Cowboys defensive coordinator, is talking shit to Andre Smith of the Bengals. Why, I have no idea, but it ends in a hearty “FUCK YOU” from Ryan. It’s an unfathomable accomplishment, but Rob is becoming the dickhead in the family. The dickhead in the Ryan family. Let that sink in for a minute.

My attitude toward Philip Rivers is generally sour at the moment, but I have to tip my cap to him for his play on third downs today. He’s been nails. He’s only 14-of-31 total, but on third down, where a quarterback really earns his paycheck, he’s been excellent. So there’s that.

And it’s a touchdown to Malcom Floyd! 20-3, San Diego. Man, it’s going to hurt when we lose this one.

Oooooh. A pretty, unaccompanied lady has sat down beside me. It might be worth noting that this was the only available seat at the bar. It’s not like this happens regularly.

I overhear this bizarre conversation. The last line might be the best thing that anyone’s ever said.

Nearby Dude: Bartender! I need a shot. I gotta keep up with that guy over there (points to a gentleman on the other side of the bar).Bartender: He’s pretty far ahead of you, man.Nearby Dude: Ah, he’s Mexican.Bartender: Is he Mexican?Nearby Dude: I don’t know what he is (shrug). He’s got a mustache.

Ever since this girl sat down, everyone in the vicinity has been cheering for the Redskins and showering her with attention. Man. Life must be so great for cute girls.

Ben Roethlisberger throws a backwards pass off of someone’s ass, and then Quentin Jammer falls on it for a touchdown, pushing the Charger lead to 27-3. Let me re-run that equation, factoring in the spherical volume of one of Quenin Jammer’s massive balls … and yes. It holds this time. The lead will stand.

60 Minutes usually advertises specifically to the football audience on Sundays. For example, if they’ve got something sports-related or something military, they’ll plug the hell out of that during the football games. This week? It’s Hugh Jackman working out. Mmm, mmm, mmm.

Rivers floats a jump ball to the corner of the endzone, and Danario Alexander goes up and gets it. 34-10, Chargers. Question: Bolts’ GM AJ Smith fucked the dog in the offseason when he signed Robert Meacham and Eddie Royal. However, Danario Alexander has turned into a beast, and our second leading receiver today is Michael Spurlock, and both of those guys, he pulled off of someone else’s shit heap. How do you balance those? Is AJ Smith on the good or bad side of the ledger for receiver acquisitions?

The lights above me keep going off and on. It’s happening continually. The bartender explains that the dimmer switch is right next to the stack of napkins, and any time a server reaches for napkins, they inadvertently hit the dimmer. I don’t want to suggest anything crazy here, but … move the napkins, maybe? Or just kind of, you know, pay attention?

It’s remarkable how the presence of one female has changed the atmosphere here. The bartender is fawning all over her, Nearby Dude is buying her drinks. If you’re a cute girl, and your life isn’t just 100% cream cheese, then you’re doing something wrong. It’s so easy to manipulate men into whatever you want. You don’t even have to have sex with anyone ‒ just make us think there’s a 1% chance that you someday might. If I was an attractive broad, I’d be so good at this.

Uh oh. RGIII has suffered a leg injury in the midst of a Redskins comeback attempt. Nearby Dude is all over it: “OH, HE’S DONE! That’s a knee. That’s an ACL. I’ve seen it before. He’s done for the year.” Doctors are tending to Griffin, but I don’t know why they’re bothering. It’s an ACL. The human MRI over here has seen it before.

Kirk Cousins takes the next snap (for some reason, everyone here thinks his name is Chad Cousins). Then RGIII is right back in. HOW CAN THIS BE, DOCTOR? The good news for RGIII, though, is that Nearby Dude does give him “mad props” for toughing it out. Probably the highest honor of RGIII’s career.

A few plays later, Griffin is carried off the field. We’re now back to the ACL diagnosis. I don’t know if the mad props still apply. Medicine is so tricky these days.

Things are getting tense for the pretty Redskins fan next to me, as her favorite player, RGIII, is now on the bench. Kirk Cousins is in. And Kirk Cousins is THROWING A TOUCHDOWN PASS! Alright. Way to go, Kirk Cousins. Nearby Dude is celebrating hard, despite never having previously shown any interest in the Redskins. He high-fives the lady, and then lifts his sweatshirt up over his chest, demonstrating to her the proper way to celebrate. That’s … alright, that’s pretty funny, Nearby Dude. Well done.

A two-point conversion would send this one to overtime, and it’s Kirk Cousins on the draw play! Excellent call, Mike Shanahan.

I’m not sure how we got here, but Nearby Dude and pretty Redskins girl are talking about whether or not RGIII likes white women. If you’re into crude racial stereotypes, this conversation might be better than the last one.

Nearby Dude: Yeah, but he doesn’t like white women.Redskins Girl: He does, too!Nearby Dude: Well … he likes the big white women.

Trailing by 17 points with 3:45 to play and battling for a playoff spot, the Steelers punt. Normally, I’d question this decision, but given his performance over the past couple of weeks, putting the ball in Philip Rivers’ hands is probably their best chance to score. I’m not even kidding about that. It’s the correct tactical decision.

You know what, Greg Hardy? There are a lot of people you can invite to polish your knob this week.

This is unreal. The pretty Redskins girl is about to leave, but not before the bartender knocks two beers off her tab, and Nearby Dude picks up the rest of her check. I realize that it’s not breaking news that pretty girls get some breaks, but I’ve never seen it so over the top like this. People are paying homage to her like she’s Clara goddamn Barton. It’s amazing. Before she goes, two different people insist to her that she comes back, and she gets one more free shot for the road. I think there’s also someone funneling money into a Cayman Islands bank account for her.

You ever see those commercials and wonder, “Come on, who gets a Lexus for Christmas?” Her. Girls like her can get a Lexus for Christmas, because we, as a gender, are hopelessly dumb and horny.

Speaking of horny: I’m probably going to see “Django Unchained”, and I’ll probably enjoy it, but I’m also convinced that Quentin Tarantino has a room in his house covered with posters of muscular, angry black men, and that room is where he goes to masturbate. I’m not saying that isn’t cool ‒ knock yourself out, and like I said, I’ll still see “Django” ‒ but I’m worried it could turn into something unhealthy for him.

I’ll probably get back to watching football at some point.

Fox is showing a big equipment cart on the Seattle sideline. The point is to show a bag of Skittles in there for Marshawn Lynch, but also on the cart are drawers labeled “Lip Balm”, “Pepto” and “Antacids”. I just found that interesting.

There’s one channel in here right now that’s showing Celebrity Downhill Skiing. Ever wonder what happened to Joe Hackett while Brian Hackett, Antonio Scarpacci and Lowell Mather went on to (varying degrees of) successful acting careers? He’s a celebrity downhill skiier, so you can shove “Sideways” up your fucking ass, Lowell.

John Skelton, Arizona’s quarterback/huckleberry this week, gets pick-sixed (can that be a verb now? I think it can be a verb now) by Seattle, making it 24-0. I may be projecting here, but I think I’ve noticed Seattle pass rushers actually taking it easy on Skelton a couple of times. Not to the point where they’d pass up a sack or anything, but they’re helping him up and maybe not pummeling him quite as hard as they could be.

Nearby Dude is leaving, and before he does, he walks past me, pats me on the back and says, “Hey, keep our names off your blog.” No problem, buddy. I don’t even know your name. I did offer to e-mail him a link to what I’d end up writing, but he declined.

Hey, remember when the Cardinals were 4-0, and everyone was like, “Hey, are the Cardinals for real? I wonder if they can keep this up!” I can’t wait to see which way that one goes.

This is nice to see: Montell Owens, Jaguars special teamer, had a really nice day filling in as the starting running back for the Jags. Montell, how do you and the team do it? Oh, that’s how. Thank you, Montell.

After a fumble, John Skelton and newly-signed center Scott Wedige are on the sidelines practicing the center/quarterback exchange … and they’re still fucking it up. That’s just embarrassing. It makes me so sad that I don’t even feel like pointing out how his last name is so close to being “Wedgie.”

It gets worse ‒ Patrick Peterson muffs a punt badly, and Seattle takes it in for a score. He was under no particular pressure, and he fumbled the ball back towards the endzone, as if to encourage the Seahawks to go in that direction. That can’t even be called a muff. That’s a giant, overgrown, thigh-encompassing, lice-infected fur pie.

Jared Odrick of the Dolphins gets a sack and celebrates with the Pee-Wee Herman dance. This, I mean. Not publicly masturbating. I’d imagine that would draw quite a fine.

On the subject of celebrations, I believe I’ve seen enough of the “Shoveling Things Into My Mouth With a Spoon” gesture. On a given football weekend, you’ll see it roughly 43,213 times. How many people have to do it before it’s played out and meaningless? Because I think that happened months ago.

Richard Sherman gets the next John Skelton interception, at which point he and Kam Chancellor break into a synchronized dance. They did it right in front of the official, too. They knew that flag was coming, and they decided that they had to dance anyway. I liked it. “Fuck it, it’s the Cardinals. Let’s dance.”

Jesus. Patrick Peterson fumbles another punt return. I’m thinking the Seahawks can get to 50 today. It doesn’t happen often in the NFL, because these are professionals and there are no pollsters to impress, but I can see it happening here. There’s just no resistance coming from the Cardinals. They won’t be able to help but score 50.

Meanwhile, I’m getting bored. The place has cleared out pretty well, and I think I’m the only one here actually watching a football game. I’m getting jealous of the lady at the other end of the bar who’s playing the bar trivia. I’m fighting the urge to look over and scream, “IT’S SHENANDOAH NATIONAL PARK, YOU STUPID BITCH.”

Which probably means it’s time for me to go, because that’s not good. The 4 o’clock letdown is sometimes too much to overcome. I’ll see you next week, everybody.

Matthew J. Darnell can be reached here. He’s probably lonely and would love to hear from you.

I’m running a little late on an unseasonably warm Sunday, but that’s alright – so is Buffalo Wild Wings. At 1:05, all the televisions are still on the program guide. That’s alright. It’s not like this is a sports bar or anything.

In my building this morning, I could overhear a guy in his apartment singing “Take My Breath Away,” the song from “Top Gun” when Tom Cruise is putting it down on Kelly McGillis. It was loud and it was terrible, and I’m going to try really hard to make friends with that guy.

The Patriots and Stevan Ridley are authors of the first touchdown I see today, with left tackle Nate Solder holding his block for about 28 seconds. I didn’t catch the well-blocked Dolphin’s number, but if he’s not embarrassed, he should be.

Bears wide receiver Earl Bennett gets hit at the thighs and goes ass-over-teakettle into the endzone. I don’t know if there’s anything in sports as consistently pleasing to sports fans as a football player doing a flip or getting flipped. It’s timeless. And yet, we have no use for gymnastics.

Interesting choice by the Universal people to market “This is 40” as a nightmarishly depressing vision of your future. I love the work of Judd Apatow, and there’s no goddamn way I’m seeing this thing without a cyanide pill in my pocket.

Side note to the above: I just clicked on the “This is 40” trailer on imdb.com, and I had to watch a 15-second advertisement first – 15 seconds of advertising before 2:47 of advertising. God. Eat shit, internet).

The Dolphins are seeing a steady diet of Wes Welker and Julian Edelman from the Patriots offense. I’d love to see “Outside The Lines” investigate the following theory: Much of Welker and Edelmen’s success is due to Tom Brady’s virulent hatred of black people. I’m not saying it’s true. But I would like it to be investigated.

I’m back to my usual solo status this weekend. The Greek may join me later, but he is currently at a child’s birthday party at a bowling alley. This is 40.

Fox commentator Tim Ryan, who I like, has been absolutely gushing over the rapport between Jay Cutler and Brandon Marshall. I can’t speak to the relationship they share, but I’ll say two things: 1) Marshall is playing really well, and 2) There is often an unspoken, unnamed bond between two people with severe emotional problems.

A long Bears drive dies at the Seattle 11-yard line after the Bears fail to pick up a fourth-and one. The play called was a Michael Bush dive into the middle of the line, and it went nowhere. I have absolutely nothing statistical or factual to back this up, but does it not seem like the jumbo set, smash-it-into-the-line play is failing more often these days? Maybe I’m imagining this. My own half-ass theory is that today’s defensive tackles are bigger and stronger than ever, while some teams have trended toward smaller, more athletic centers and guards. I may not know what the fuck I’m talking about.

Special teamer Jimmy Wilson of Miami roughs Patriots punter Zoltan Mesko with a facemask to the taint. First down, Pats.

Mark Sanchez heaves a pathetic back-foot throw downfield, and it’s picked off by Kerry Rhodes. On the sidelines, someone hands him a telephone, and I imagine on the other end that someone is saying, “So … you’re just never going to get better, then? Never?”

The annual Victoria’s Secret fashion show, network television’s tribute to jism-soaked couch cushions, will be airing on December 4th on CBS. I don’t know if they’ve completely misread their audience, or they have a gross misunderstanding of the purpose of their own show, but they’ve added performances by Justin Bieber and Bruno Mars to the program. Because that’s what gentlemen want to see when masturbating to supermodels. The guys they actually might fuck.

A tremendous stat from the Cardinals/Jets game: On the last nine pass attempts in that game, there has been one completion and three interceptions.

Another fine stat: The Cardinals, on 30 offensive plays, have gained 70 yards. On one fake punt, they gained 40. I’m not sure who the Cardinals have started at quarterback this week. Rian Lindell, I think.

I haven’t seen any of the game, but halftime highlights tell me that Brady Quinn is throwing the ball very efficiently for the Chiefs. The only possible explanation: Brady Quinn thrives on human tragedy. If Quinn’s quarterback rating keeps going up, and a string of people go missing in Kansas City, I have my suspect.

More from Brady Quinn. He hits Jonathan Baldwin on a little slant to give Kansas City a 24-14 lead. Kansas City needed a hero, and they have one. After the TD, CBS cameras cruelly show Matt Cassel on the sidelines, as if to say, “Look at this fucker! Not even as good as Brady Quinn!”

Ooooh, and lookie here. I think Mark Sanchez is about to get benched. I can’t hear the game, but Sanchez is wearing a hat and Greg McElroy is warming up. This is when it finally happens, is it? Hey, no shame in your game, Sanchez. You somehow got an NFL team to start you for three-and-a-half years. You’re an inspiration to back-up quality quarterbacks everywhere.

Cardinals linebacker Brandon Williams picks up a 15-yard penalty for … I don’t know. I think the official call was hitting Greg McElroy in bounds, but making it look like it was kind of out-of-bounds, and besides, things are hard enough for a Jets quarterback anyway. Yes. That was it. Fifteen yards. It’s the Jets’ biggest offensive play of the day. In fact, it’s the best thing a Jets quarterback has done in about three-and-a-half years.

A few plays later, it’s Touchdown, Jets! McElroy hits a wide open Jeff Cumberland in the endzone, and at long last, we have someone who can make the most out of the talents of Jeff Cumberland. Scoff if you want, but Larry Fitzgerald is on the other sideline thinking, “Man, I wish we had a Greg McElroy to put in the game.”

This looks like the week that my Henne-rection softens. Chad is struggling against the Bills (which is not the team against which you want to struggle), and Buffalo just pushed the lead to 24.

Rian Lindell of the Cardinals throws the football to a wide open patch of turf just on the other side of the endzone. Coming back to the huddle, Larry Fitzgerald is pointing at himself, as if to say, “Me, dude. Throw it to me. Or someone dressed like me.” On the next play, Lindell tried to throw it to Fitzgerald on a short, simple, out pattern and overthrew him by about three yards. And Fitzgerald, though he’d never want to take anyone with him, wonders if Jovan Belcher didn’t have the right idea.

The benching of Sanchez has made me start watching this goddamn game. On surrounding TVs, there are compelling games between the Bears and Seahawks, and Patriots and Dolphins. Somehow, I’ve gotten caught up in watching this game that has all the aesthetic value of watching sewer rats fuck.

Hey, there’s Mike Tolbert with a long catch-and-run for the Panthers. He finishes it off by lowering his shoulder in classic Kool-Aid Man style. I miss that guy. Damn you, Panthers, for stealing Mike Tolbert and letting him get lost in your offensive black hole. He can be a useful tool for a team with a well-rounded offense. You’ve got to let a Chanticleer shine.

To the great disappointment of the prisoners in San Quentin, Colin Kaepernick screws up an option pitch, and Janoris Jenkins of the Rams grabs it for a touchdown. If the Rams convert the two-point conversion, we’ll be tied and heading to overtime. If this ends in another tie, I’m going to suspect that the NFL is controlled by the same people who manipulated me into wanting to see Pacquiao/Marquez IV.

Greg McElroy, desperate to fit in, attempts an interception for the Jets. He looks deep over to the right side, and HE’S GOT IT! Oh, god dammit. It’s going to be called back for illegal contact.

I know I haven’t mentioned them, but there are good quarterbacks playing today, and one of them, Russell Wilson is leading a big boy drive right now. He scrambles to his right and throws to Sidney Rice for a 27-yard gain, setting the Seahawks up at the Chicago 14-yard line with :32 to play.

On the next play, Golden Tate danceshis way into the endzone for what could be a game-winning touchdown. A legitimate one this time, which is a nice change of pace for Tate.

The Jets, at the Cardinals six-yard-line with a one-point lead, hand the ball to Shonn Greene who slices through the line, and then takes a knee at the one-yard-line so the Jets can just run out the clock. As if Shonn Greene isn’t enough of an asshole to fantasy football enthusiasts.

So the Bears are down three now, and have just 24 seconds to get from their own 14 into field goal range. Cutler’s going to throw, and holy balls, it’s complete. Fifty-six yards downfield to Brandon Marshall. Marshall is great – he’s dominated this game about as much as a receiver can dominate a game – but that’s pretty shameful, Seattle.

Two plays later, Robbie Gould will kick Chicago into overtime. After the overtime coin toss, Jay Cutler, as he’s leaving the field, picks up the coin and gives it to the official. Awww! I love the holiday season. Even Jay Cutler turns into less of a wang.

San Francisco/St. Louis has also gone to overtime. I just hope we can get this game over with before all of Colin Kaepernick’s fans have to get back to their cells.

In overtime, Russell Wilson comes up with more big boy football. A touchdown pass to Sidney Rice wins it for the Seahawks. Unfortunately, the play also resulted in the near-decapitation of Sidney Rice, but hey, the ball crossed the goal line first, so that’s all that matters. I’m sorry your arms are making that weird, clenching, concussion gesture, Sidney.

Uh oh. Ike Taylor has left the Steelers/Ravens game early, and is unlikely to return, which is just a huge kick in the wiener for the Steelers. Aside from Ben Roethlisberger, he might be the guy the Steelers can least afford to lose. There’s just no way they’re winning this game.

The Bengals, on their first drive of the game, are going for a 4th and 9 in borderline field goal territory. It’s almost like they don’t respect the Chargers pass defense. Screw you, Marvin Lewis, for making the right call in a situation where I would find conventional wisdom to be more convenient for me. They convert, of course, and the drive turns into a touchdown.

I’m in need of a change of scenery. I’ll be watching the rest of the afternoon games from an establishment called The Tilted Kilt, or, as I like to call it, Hooters, But We’re Not Fuckin’ Around. The girls there wear these plaid push-up bras that make every pair of tits look like porno tits.

By the time I get there, the Chargers have gone up 10-7 on the Bengals. I’m feeling good about the move. Also, I’m joined here by my buddy Adam. This is probably the last you’ll hear about him, because while he is a dear friend, he’s also not the kind of person who contributes anything to anything.

Strike one against The Tilted Kilt: I sit at the bar for about ten minutes before anyone acknowledges my existence. Strike two: When I am acknowledged, it’s by a dude. Not cool, Kilt Girls. I have feelings, you know.

Peyton Manning is being chased out of bounds, but before taking the loss of yardage, he gently tosses the ball ahead to a running back who had fallen down. It earns him a pat on the helmet from Greg Schiano, which is, I believe, nicer than anything Greg Schiano has ever done for a Buccaneer.

I order something called The Irish Nachos, and when preceding the word “nachos,” apparently “Irish” means “cold and shitty.” Guess what, Tilted Kilt? I’m too fuckin’ old to overlook poor service and low-quality food just because your employees have agreed to shove their tits in my face. I’m taking the money I was going to tip you, and giving it to a 78-year-old waitress at Denny’s who brings me eggs while smoking a Marlboro.

Mike Wallace of the Steelers gets himself wiiiiiiiiiide open in the endzone, and Charlie Batch throws the ball about eight feet over his head. Wallace looked at it and started to jump, then changed his mind and never left his feet because fuck it, he wasn’t getting there.

Meanwhile, the Chargers finish off a surprisingly competent first half against the Bengals, taking a 13-10 lead into halftime.

Confession: I’m moderately excited to see “Jack Reacher”. I’ve read none of the books, but Tom Cruise in a campy, over-the-top version of the Bourne movies? How could that not be entertaining? Also, “Jack Reacher” was the pseudonym I used in my adult film career.

The Steelers give the ball to Jonathan Dwyer, who disappears into a mass of humanity, then somehow pops out of the left side of the pile and hauls ass to the endzone. Unbelievably, this game is tied at 13.

Terry Bradshaw, doing highlights at halftime, wants everyone to know how funny it is that he can’t pronounce “Moeaki.”

A commercial for “The Hobbit” leads Adam to tell me about his days working at a movie theater, when there were people who camped out overnight to see the new Star Wars movie. Some of them were dressed up as “that bear-lookin’ dude.” Ah, kids.

Oh, Emmanuel Sanders, you gigantic sack of elephant spunk. Charlie Batch hit him perfectly in stride on a play that could’ve gone to the house, and not only did Sanders drop it, but he caught it first and then dropped it.

People make mistakes, though. It was unnecessary to call Emmanuel Sanders a gigantic sack of elephant spunk there. I am sorry. I’m sure he’s a wonderful man.

Also, I don’t want to alarm anyone, but Charlie Batch has been playing pretty well.

Here’s Pacman Jones with a nice punt return to set the Bengals up in field goal territory against the Chargers. It gets called back, but that was a nice reminder that Pacman Jones is still out there, still not committing crimes. If anyone ever deserved a pat on the back for just not being an asswad, it’s Pacman. Great job, man.

Spontaneously, the Bengals/Chargers game is turned off, in favor of getting the Steelers/Ravens on an 87th television. What the fiddlesticks, Tilted Kilt? Have I done something to offend someone here? I’m really sorry that I’m not walking around telling every waitress that they give me a skin-ripping boner. It’s as if this place his been engineered from the ground up to hurt my feelings.

FLACCO FUMBLE! How are the Steelers in this game? It’s either a Herculean effort on their part, or the Ravens are little girls. Also, Joe Flacco, you’re currently being outplayed by Charlie Batch, which I guess makes him elite, too.

The Chargers/Bengals game is going to end with Philip Rivers getting trampled by a mass of Bengals and fumbling the football away. Oh, there will still be enough time that the Chargers might later appear to be making a late-game charge, but it’ll be an illusion. They’re far more comfortable collapsing.

Paul Kruger of the Ravens commits one of the dumbest late hits I’ve ever seen, gifting Batch and the Steelers 15 free yards. The ball had been thrown and then Kruger decided to reach up and club Batch in the back of the head. He didn’t even hit him hard enough to hurt him. There was absolutely no point to that.

Philip Rivers is doing what he always does after he fucks something up – calmly talking it over with Norv Turner. When Norv loses his job at the end of the season, I’m afraid these guys are both going to lose their best friend. I only ever see them talking to each other.

The Steelers have set up Shaun Suisham for an attempt at a game-winning field goal … and he’s got it. Just an unreal win for the Steelers – in Baltimore, no Ben, no Ike Taylor, an offense that was absolute garbage last week, and they steal one from the team that hates them most. The Steelers absolutely had to have that, too, because the Colts won and it looks like the Bengals will, too.

Speaking of which, here comes the fake comeback attempt effort from the Chargers. With over 1:00 to play and the ball at the Cincinnati 16, Philip Rivers tries four times to throw to convert a low-percentage throw to the endzone. There was a first down available to them, and they had plenty of time. Why they felt they needed constant shots to the endzone, I have no idea. But the last one was picked off, because of course it was.

Next week, the Chargers continue their “Please Teabag Us, Teams of the AFC North” Tour in Pittsburgh.

As always, the Smorgasbord is a work of The Mighty MJD. After he debuted last week, I meant to set him up with his own KSK contributor log-in so his name would appear on the post byline, but I am either overworked to the point that I forgot about it or lazy about administrative tasks. Most likely both. I will do better for next week. Anyway, here it is:

I hate to start all of these bitching about the state of the NFL’s pre-game shows, so here’s some praise for one of them: ESPN2’s Fantasy Football Now is the best Sunday pre-game show. It’s calm, it’s rational, no one’s talking over one another, and no one’s laughing uproariously at a joke about how Howie Long enjoys eating food. And even though it’s a fantasy show, it gives the viewer 85% (this calculation may not be scientific) more actual football information. I wholeheartedly endorse ESPN2’s Fantasy Football Now.

Unfortunately, I can’t stay home and watch ESPN2 forever. At the bar, it’s the Fox pre-game show dominating the airwaves, and I’m going to repeat this, because I like the comparison: The network pre-game NFL shows are “The View”. They are “The View” with fewer tampon ads.

I’ve got some Smorgasbord company this week, for the first time in a long time. Old-schoolers might even remember them from the golden days ‒ The Greek, Dirty and Boogie. So you know, these people do have real names, and I address them by those real names, but on the internet, they prefer pseudonyms. If that means I have to sound a little douchier, oh well.

Someone in Cleveland made a great big yellow sign that reads simply “BED WETTERS”. Credit to the Browns organization for being so non-discriminatory with the groups to which they give tickets.

It takes Brandon Weeden about a minute to throw his first interception to the Steelers. On second down, he had a valiant interception attempt dropped. Disappointed but not deterred, he tried again on third down. This time, he got the pass tipped, just to ensure maximum interceptability.

The Steelers hand the ball right back, though (I didn’t know that this would become the theme for the game). In other news, Plaxico Burress was on the field, wearing the traditional old #80. It’s such a bizarre thing to see. I feel like I’m going to look up and see Tommy Maddox any time here.

News: Gene Chizik has been fired. Related story: Carolina might have an opening at head coach next year. I’m just saying, it worked once before.

Also this week, the Steelers signed Brian Hoyer, former Michigan State Spartan and New England Patriot. It takes a good six or seven minutes to explain to The Greek that Brian Hoyer is not, in fact, Bobby Hoying. He seems disappointed.

Chad Henne is a house of fire once again. I’m not watching the Titans/Jags game because I’m not someone who lives in Jacksonville or Nashville and doesn’t have cable or a DVD player, but the score/stats ticker on some other game says that he’s 6-of-7 passing.

Two consecutive Charlie Batch throws sail over the head of the intended receiver by about four yards. The name Vinny Testaverde is now being thrown around, as in, “The Steelers really should have signed Vinny Testaverde to start this week.” It couldn’t be much uglier than this, and would be twice as entertaining. You know Dick LeBeau would send James Harrison over to knock the piss out of Vinny, just out of force of habit.

Whoa. In what may be a first, Romeo Crennel is yelling at someone. You know what it looked like? This:

Also of interest from Kansas City is that the Chiefs are up on the Broncos early, and Brady Quinn currently has better numbers than Peyton Manning. Finally, the Quinn/Manning rivalry everyone wanted to see is materializing.

A brief note to Denarius Moore, Demaryius Thomas, and Danario Alexander: You three are confusing the fuck out of me.

The Greek is currently dabbling in the world of online dating and, given his location and interests, gets matched up with a lot of single female Steelers fans. Noting that exceptions exist, he labels that particular group of ladies a “nightmare.” I have no opinion to offer, but Dirty, the Eagles fan, insists that single female Eagles fans are, in contrast, “the cream of the crop.” I’m stereotyping here, but when I think single female Eagles fan, I think of the type of lady who doesn’t bother with feminine hygiene products, but instead, shoves a dishrag in her filthy underwear when the need arises every month.

With every other Steeler running back benched because of an ongoing fumble spree, Chris Rainey finally gets his chance, and guess what? He fumbles. This one happened to go out of bounds, but still, stop foreshadowing so much, Steelers.

How’s it going with Charlie Batch, you ask? With :56 to play in the first half, the Steelers have just run their first play in Browns territory.

In the biggest offensive play of the game so far, Plaxico Burress draws a pass interference call in the endzone. I’d love to tell you how Plax looks in his return to the league, but it’s hard to evaluate someone attempting to catch throws from Charlie Batch. It’s like trying to evaluate a golfer who’s using a car antenna to swing at a meatball in a pool of KY Jelly.

I just overheard the following sentence, which can’t have been uttered too many times throughout history: “I can’t believe they beat Rutgers.”

The sprinklers come on in the Seattle/Miami game, and … I have no jokes for you. Um, let’s see … It’s too late, because Marcus Trufant has already been burnt? Something about a Buffalo Wild Wings commercial? Ah, I got nothin’.

Bad indicator for the Steelers: They’ve turned the ball over four times in their own territory. Worse indicator for the Browns: The Steelers are still winning.

I haven’t made any notes for a while, so let me take the opportunity to share this: Save your money and wait to see “Lincoln”. It’s not a bad movie by any means, but would you know what I meant if I said it was too Spielberg-y? It wasn’t what I hoped it would be. I think your mother will really like it.

I’ll hate to do it, but eventually, I’m going to have to admit that Greg Schiano is a good coach. The Bucs are giving the Falcons all they can handle.

Rashard Mendenhall fumbles again, but the Steelers accidentally recover it. Not to worry, though ‒ a Batch/Wallace slant gets botched soon after to nail down the turnover. Imagine you’re in your office, and you’re watching a group of people less competent than you struggle for hours over what should be a simple task. You think to yourself, “Jesus Christ, if you dipshits would just get the fuck out of the way, I’d fix this in 14 seconds.” This is what Ben Roethlisberger is thinking right now.

A Colts cheerleader is getting her head shaved on the sidelines in honor of Chuck Pagano’s battle against leukemia. To share a personal preference, I don’t mind the look at all. I went to school with a girl who had no hair, and I always kind of had a crush on her. I probably should’ve told her that, but I was, and continue to be, a big pussy.

Dirty’s sentiment on a the cheerleader’s #CHUCKSTRONG head-shaving? “So what? If I go out and shave my balls at the 50-yard-line, am I a hero?”

FIGHT! We’ve got an actual fight in the Bengals/Raiders game ‒ about as much of a fight as is possible in the NFL, anyway. Andrew Whitworth of the Bengals, unappreciative of some unnecessary contact to Andy Dalton, shoves Lamarr Houston. Lamarr Houston is having none of it, and they lock up and eventually go to the ground. Then Tommy Kelly gets in on it. It doesn’t sound like much, and I suppose it wasn’t, but it at least lasted longer than your run-of-the-mill NFL skirmish. The only thing I saw that could’ve qualified as a punch was a downward clubbing forearm from Matt Shaughnessy.

The end results? Whitworth, Houston and Kelly are ejected. Whitworth dances around like he just won the lottery. The most unfortunate part of all this? We had to see what LaMarr Houston’s head looks like.

The Steelers turnover train has kept on rolling, but even after another Chris Rainey fumble with about 2:30 to play, I still feel like they’re going to win. It’s just years and years of Browns vs. Steelers history kicking in, I suppose, but they’re just one play away. Emmanuel Sanders or Mike Wallace can make one play in spite of Charlie Batch.

Actually, never mind. It’s 1st and 97 for Batch, with :20 on the clock. The Browns are actually going to do this.

The Broncos also finally finish off the Chiefs in extremely unconvincing fashion. Somehow, Peyton Manning recovered to outduel Brady Quinn. The rivalry continues. This round goes to Manning, but who will be remembered in NFL lore as the better quarterback? Only time will tell.

And on the last play of the game, the Steelers tack on one more for a grand total of 8 turnovers. Mike Tomlin might be the only NFL coach capable of watching his team turn the ball over 8 times without having a goddamn stroke. Imagine Sean Woods in such a scenario. He’d have Rashard Mendenhall duct-taped up in a plastic-lined garage, ready to play out a whole Dexter scenario.

For the first time in Smorgasbord history, we have been joined by children: a five-year-old girl and a seven-year-old boy. Step one is to move from the bar to the Buffalo Wild Wings dining area (which exists, for some reason). I’m just not sure if Smorgasbord MJD and Uncle MJD can co-exist here.

The Division 1 Volleyball Selection Show. This is what I’m watching right now. With sound.

Santa Clara is a five seed? HORSESHIT. Their bump game is total shit.

About seven minutes in with the kids, Uncle MJD blurts out his first “fuck.” Sorry, little ones. I don’t have a lot of verbal self-control. I’m going to try, but hopefully, someone’s told you that you don’t want to grow up and be like Uncle MJD.

Jesus, it is really hard to watch football when there are kids around. They demand attention. Why do you people keep making so goddamn many of these things? Philip Rivers delivers a strike down the middle to Malcom Floyd for a Chargers touchdown and a 7-0 lead. I can’t decide how this one’s going to go ‒ we’re either going to play well and blow a lead late or we’re going to win impressively because we’ve already fucked the dog so hard this season that it no longer matters. I think it might still be a little early for the latter scenario, because if we win, we’ll be just one game out of Wild Card position, and we don’t want to risk accidentally getting back into the playoff race. Blown late lead, it shall be.

With daddy and the little boy off to the bathroom, the little girl decides she wants to start chugging ranch dressing straight from the cup. Why I care, I don’t know ‒ my normal policy is that if someone leaves a kid around me and assumes I’ll watch them, I’ll stand there and watch the child eat a light bulb and not say a goddamn word ‒ but this time, I ask her to stop. She giggles. I say it a little more forcefully. She says I’m not the boss of her. I’m flummoxed (screw you, I’m new at this).

I think for a minute, and then I just grab the cup of ranch right out of her hand. Is that okay to do? I don’t know. But it felt pretty good. A second ago, it was hers, and now it’s MINE. HAHAHAHAHA. She starts weeping, and being a sucker for a crying little girl, I would’ve expected that to make me apologize, give her back the ranch and get her a straw. None of that happens, though. I actually feel good about this. I am 100% remorseless. I took your ranch, bitch. Cry all you want. Go ahead and tell daddy. I’ll take his ranch, too, princess.

New Orleans leads the 49ers, 14-7. I have nothing to add to this fact. This ranch controversy has completely taken over my life.

Daddy finally comes back, and guess what, sweetheart? He’s on my side. YOU CAN’T. DRINK. THE RANCH. Score one for Uncle MJD. You know, it just feels really good to make a contribution to a young person’s life. She’s going to grow up, and never again in a restaurant will she grab a ramekin of ranch dressing and throw it back like a Jägerbomb. And why? Because Uncle MJD intervened. This is what it’s all about, man. Touching people’s lives. Helping the youth realize their potential. I feel like I know what Whitney was singing about now. The children are the future.

CBS has a clip of Pat Shurmur giving the Browns the feel-good, post-game locker room talk. I can’t hear it, but I’d like to take a guess at what he’s saying: “Well, they gave us the ball eight times, and, you know … we happened to be standing there when they dropped it. That was good. You were good at picking up footballs today. You showed up, you got dressed properly, everyone wore the same color… good stuff, guys. Browns on three.”

The kids leave at halftime, but not before they hear Uncle Dirty accuse my mother of “semen guzzling.” Daddy may have some questions to answer tonight.

Today’s misuse of the word “literally” comes from the same silver-tongued linguist: “The 49ers literally have eight Pro Bowlers at linebacker.”

Say, who wants an update on the consolation game of the Old Spice Classic? No one? Fine.

The Ravens have a 4th and inches in easy field goal territory, trailing by 7. There’s plenty of time ‒ still over six minutes in the third quarter. I’d advocate taking the points here, but they don’t. Further, if they have to go for it, I’d advocate giving the ball to Ray Rice. They don’t do that, either. Corey Liuget buries someone named Pierce in the backfield for a loss of two.

With under eight minutes to play, a Chargers field goal pushes the lead back to 10. We might actually do this. In the meantime, Boogie is chatting up a cute young Ravens fan sitting at the bar by her lonesome.

News: Brandon Browner and Richard Sherman of the Seahawks are about to be suspended four games for using performance-enhancing drugs. Can any action be taken against the Seahawks for this? If so, someone should probably keep a close eye on Pete Carroll.

Boogie’s been talking to the cute Ravens girl steadily for about a half hour now. She seems like a nice girl. Boogie, suave little devil that he is, buys a shot for me, and a shot for her, and we do them together in the spirit of Ravens/Chargers sportsmanship. As she’s wearing a Ray Lewis jersey, I politely ask her not to stab me in the parking lot after the game. I was kidding, and she said she wouldn’t, but she also confides that she has a knife in her purse. I don’t think she’s going to stab me, but that’s not the most comforting knowledge in the world, either. We drink, and I tell her that I’m sorry for what’s about to happen to her team.

But I know deep down that the Chargers are about to gag this game away in spectacular fashion. I’m not going to show the weakness, but I can feel it. I’ve heard this song before.

On the heels of a quick Ravens touchdown drive, then another Chargers three and out, the Ravens need just a field goal to send this to overtime. I can’t remember the last time the Chargers were in a situation like this and it turned out well.

Holding, Ravens. That makes it 2nd and 20. Incompletion. 3rd and 20. Sack. 4th and 29. Holy fuck, we might do this. The Charger defense is going to go out and TAKE WHAT’S THEIRS.

And what’s theirs is apparently abject failure and a tackling ability so poor that it should shame their families for generations. Motherfuck me. 4th and 29. With a dump-off pass. A dump-off. On 4th and 29. That means Ray Rice caught a football, and between him and the first down sticks were 25 yards of grass and seven men in San Diego Chargers uniforms, all highly-trained professional tacklers. All seven failed to tackle him in time. Dump-off. 4th and 29.

I could live with getting beat by a good throw to a good receiver. There’s a hole in every coverage, even good ones, even on 4th and 29, and good quarterbacks can find them. Sometimes, Joe Flacco can, too. I was expecting Torrey Smith to pull down a miracle grab along the sideline 30 yards down the field. When Flacco checked the ball down, though, I was sure that the play was dunzo. We’ve got seven guys back, and he needs 29 yards. He’s the safety valve. He can’t get that far. No way.

But he sure did. I don’t even know what to say about it. I am in awe of this kind of failure. We Norv’d the shit out of that one. Maybe the Norviest Norv that ever Norved.

Not that Norv was responsible for that play or that loss, but he’s there and he’s Norv, so fuck him.

The spot of the ball is being challenged ‒ the ruling on the field is that Ray Rice picked up the first down. To me, the replay appears to show that the ball was short of the first-down when Rice’s knee hit, but honestly, I hope the first down stands. If you give up 28½ on 4th and 29, you are an asshole and don’t deserve to win. If they overturn it, the game’s over ‒ the Chargers will win, and I will be embarrassed by it.

Somewhere in hour number four of the replay process, it’s determined that the call on the field stands. First down Ravens. They’ll get their field goal, and we’ll go into overtime, so it can take longer to gag this one away.

Overtime drags on and on and on, and I decide that I want a tie. Ties are unique, if nothing else. I’d be embarrassed by a win, and I don’t like losing, but a tie? A tie is at least a story. Come on, tie.

I’m not getting my tie. As it turns out, this is where Torrey Smith makes his impossible 30-yard grab. Good throw, good coverage ‒ Quentin Jammer had his hand between Smith’s hands ‒ he just made a great grab. A few kneel-downs later, and the field goal is good.

I don’t deserve this. I stopped a girl from drinking ranch dressing today.

Needlessly but nicely, cute Ravens girl apologizes. We’ve been talking a little trash, so she deserves the satisfaction of seeing me upset, so I oblige ‒ I frown and give her the finger. In my head, however, I’m thinking, “Oh, don’t apologize. There’s no reason to.” Then the guy sitting to my right, just loud enough for me to hear, says, “Don’t apologize. Bend over.” A sweet, sweet man, this one.